Stranger Liaisons
by snuffnyc
Summary: Set after my earlier piece "Strange Bedfellows," Jane and Maura find themselves drawn to one another, despite the risks. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Stranger Liaisons**

**Notes/Disclaimers/Shenanigans: This story will continue in the same universe created by my earlier two-parter, Strange Bedfellows (which you can find here on FF and should probably read first). It will be multiple chapters, and it will be RATED M FOR MATURE. If this isn't your thing, bow out now. I don't own these characters, and I don't make a profit off their use. Thanks for reading.**

**Chapter 1**

Pursing her lips once in the rearview, Jane tilted the mirror down with a harsh jerk, and immediately wiped the sticky gloss from her mouth.

It was silly, really. In her mind, she was well past the insecure young woman of her twenties, trying desperately to fit in, going along to get along. Jane Rizzoli hated makeup, unless she was using it to cover up a shiner. Then it was okay, and even then she only half-heartedly covered it so she wouldn't look like a maniac. Tough was good. Alluring. But there was nothing hot about looking like a thug.

No, Jane would use some mascara to help her eyelashes along, but that was pretty much it. She hopped out of the car, locked the door, and adjusted herself in the most unladylike fashion imaginable.

That made her laugh out loud, her chuckle bouncing off the tall brick buildings around her, filling the empty streets. She was late, as usual, and her gun was sliding around beneath her jacket, pulling her shirt untucked, and wreaking a lot of mayhem on her only "nice" outfit. Jane had dresses that she looked nice in, but they weren't _nice_. Nice meant her favorite suit, the one that _didn't_ cost $119 at the outlets and come with a free shirt and belt. Nice meant the one with the cufflinks that she was currently fidgeting with.

She wasn't ashamed of her lack of fashion sense. It made _a lot_ of sense, actually, for a detective in her standing to be exactly in the position she found herself in, trotting past the elegantly landscaped tree boxes and hustling beneath the deep burgundy awning, hoping the leather soles she wasn't used to running in didn't plant her ass straight onto the pavement.

Jane was a detective on the city's Major Narcotics squad, used to busting her ass both literally and metaphorically every day on the job. And nights like tonight were rare, so she was going to do her damnedest to enjoy it if she could. She didn't mind anymore that she fit the profile to a T: workaholic, slightly bedraggled, always half-cocked and half-lit, but the smartest brand of cop Boston had. And there weren't enough of them to go around- she was always getting asked to join this unit or that task force, to come in and be their ace. Only Jane had her sights set on something else entirely, and nothing less would ever do.

But a little schmoozing never hurt, Jane thought as she entered the hotel lobby. Tonight's event was for charity, and everybody who was important or thought they were would be there. How Jane got an invite was never quite clear, but it was always far enough removed from its source as to leave her smelling completely clean.

Truth was, Paddy Doyle, for all his buffoonery and intimidation, was grooming her. She'd been corralled by him completely by accident, but now that he had his claws in her he was careful to exercise restraint. He operated with a certain nuance that continually impressed her, even if she'd never admit it to the man himself.

Jane had no aspirations of upward mobility, within the police department or otherwise. She knew who she was and liked it just fine, but she had to respond with the same level of tact and diplomacy that he covertly showed her. That was a cardinal rule of the game, lawful or lawless: never bring a sledgehammer to a carving party.

Besides, a little face time with a few members of the brass couldn't hurt her chances to make Homicide. She wouldn't be the only detective there, but she'd be the youngest, and the only female by a mile.

A man who looked curiously like the city's mayor breezed by her, the laugh on his lips curling out like smoke, and a woman who was not his wife by his side, but conspicuously _not_ on his arm. Can't be too careful, she figured. She managed a tight smile, and he nodded in her direction, and passed her as though she belonged there.

These are not the droids you're looking for, she thought.

Forcing her face to straighten into something resembling proper stoicism, Jane felt her shoulders relax as she entered the ballroom, strains of upbeat jazz music greeting her like a breath of fresh air. The mood was downright festive, the expansive room having been turned into a casino for one night only, a benefit for some city project that Jane couldn't remember the name of. All she needed to know was that it brought out all the bigwigs, the city's prominent and rich and influential.

For appearances' sake there was the usual smattering of local business owners and their kids in Little League uniforms, handing out flyers and generally looking as wholesome as possible. But near the back of the room, an area Jane dared not survey in person until she'd had at least three drinks, she could see the outline of the hulking bodies of the union heads and thinly-veiled mobsters, hobnobbing with the councilmen's' wives and casually back-slapping in a completely unironic sort of way.

Jane recognized a face in the crowd near the blackjack tables, and sidled up to the bar to wait for him as he weaved through the pit.

"Jane Rizzoli," the older man smiled at her, his mustache crinkling over his lip. "Long time, no see, kid. You been hiding out on me?"

"Nah, Korsak," Jane motioned for a scotch and got two fingers in rapid time, "Just been busy."

"Busy," he laughed. "Busy collaring everybody and making us look bad. Do you _ever_ sleep?"

Jane shrugged. "Not really. But hey, I learned from the best so… that must say something about you."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Flattering me, Janie? You start drinking before you came?"

She punched him lightly in the arm. "Stop being so paranoid, old man."

When he didn't say anything, merely raised an eyebrow, Jane submitted.

"Well, _yeah_, I may have had a beer or two at my place before I left but…"

He laughed loudly, and a few eyes scattered in their direction.

"See! That's about the only habit you picked up from me. But," he sighed, "that's probably a good thing. Heard you're a star on the rise, Jane. Legit. No bullshit."

Jane leaned back against the bar with her elbows and watched the well-dressed crowd mingle and hop from table to table. "I dunno, Korsak. Don't believe everything you hear."

A loud cheer erupted from one of the blackjack tables, and Korsak's eyes went wide.

"Gotta check it out. Wanna come?"

Jane shook her head. "I'm gonna cool my heels, maybe find a breath mint."

He laughed and walked off briskly, leaving behind only the vaguest notion of whatever ten-dollar cologne he was wearing. Jane smiled, and finished her drink with a fat swallow, relishing in the burn it left in her throat.

The other people Jane recognized were all merely acquaintances or even less, so after buying in for a small stack of chips, she ordered another drink and carried it one hand, jingling the plastic tokens in her pocket with the other.

The floor was busy, but the most action was in that place Jane feared to tread, the back of the room where the cadre of craps tables sat awash in cigar smoke, like the Los Angeles skyline in smog. Her hundred dollars wouldn't go far on a table like that, but she decided to have a look- an innocent look- and that's when it all went to shit.

* * *

A man Jane knew, publicly a high-ranking union official, privately a man on Doyle's payroll, stood elbow to elbow with the Deputy Commissioner, and beside him stood a female developer Jane would bet her badge was also corrupt. The table was full, and Jane's knowledge of the game was thin at best, so she stood back and watched, enjoying the scotch while keeping her eyes peeled.

"Detective Rizzoli," the DC suddenly boomed, spotting her with her lips still singing from the booze. "Come on over here and play a while. There's room."

That he even knew her name made Jane's eyes bulge, but she quickly stowed her surprise for a more measured response. "Ah, you know…"

"Come on," the nameless union suit waved her closer still, making a little room for her at the rail.

Taking a deep breath, Jane squeezed between them, pulled out her stack and rattled it nervously.

"How 'bout just ten on the yo," Jane tossed a chip onto the felt, towards the stickman who acknowledged her with a smile.

"Thatta girl," the Deputy Commissioner nudged her and placed his own bets, and Jane buried her face in the drink in front of her, not relenting until the glass was empty.

Amazingly, the table was so crowded that the waitress brought along another scotch- without Jane ever asking for one or even telling her what it was she was drinking- before the shooter had even collected the dice. Bets were flying all over the table, the desire for charity work apparently very strong in this lot.

At the other end of the table, in the bend where Jane couldn't see, the shooter picked up the dice and threw them, and they tumbled against the back wall. Jane didn't even watch them fall, choosing instead to take another long pull of her drink.

"Yo-eleven, front line winner!"

Jane set the drink hard on the chip rail. "Wait. What?"

The shouting was raucous. Everyone had followed her on the single line bet to the yo, and the house was just hit for a major payout. Her piddly-ass ten dollar bet just won Jane a hundred and fifty bucks.

The ruddy-faced Deputy grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her enthusiastically.

"Don't worry, Chairman! We'll give it all back, won't we?" he bellowed. "Or should I say, Chair_woman_?"

From the end of the table, the woman- the shooter- leaned forward, and for the first time Jane could see her completely. She was absolutely stunning in a low-cut black dress, her hair pinned back low and loose, exposing shoulders Jane could swear she'd seen before.

Only when their eyes met could Jane truly process what she was seeing.

"The odds are certainly in our favor, Commissioner."

Maura. The doctor from the warehouse with the fluorescent lamps and the constant smell of disinfectant. The doctor from all those times Jane had lain bleeding. The doctor from the richly appointed mansion with the silken sheets and thighs that could kill a man.

Jane's mouth hung open.

"Are you going to let it ride?"

She was talking to her. Maura was talking to her.

"Um," Jane instantly regretted all the scotch. "Should I?"

Maura winked at her. "It's for charity so… yes, I think you should."

So Jane did, she let her winnings ride on the next toss of the dice. So did half the table, content to watch the socialite-doctor lean sensually over the table and throw the red squares of meaningless dots into the smoky air, until they came to a crashing halt.

"Eight! The point is eight."

Just like that, it was all gone. That Jane didn't care either way wasn't the point. It was that she was now borderline intoxicated, surrounded by powerful men, all of whom could probably have her killed with a simple phone call, and a woman Jane had fucked senseless, then spent the last three weeks trying to forget.

Hurriedly, Jane drained her stack, tossing ill-advised bets onto the table left and right, hoping against all hope that she could get out of there smoothly and without making a scene. She played the part perfectly, chumming it up with the union head about how it was "for a good cause" and "too bad" she was such a lousy gambler. Finally, her pockets empty, Jane spun around and made her move, ready to bolt but feeling a hand at the crook of her elbow.

"The Community Clinic of Boston thanks you for your terrible play, Miss…?"

Maura's tiny hand was extended in her direction, not the slightest bit of a quiver in sight. But then again, she was a surgeon, so maybe that was really no indicator at all. Jane cautiously met her eyes, and found they gave away more of the doctor than any practiced smile or handshake ever could.

"Detective Rizzoli," Jane replied. "Jane Rizzoli."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Maura Isles, chairman of the clinic's board. Can I buy you a drink, Detective?"

The air left Jane's lung in a hurry, but a quick glance around the room revealed nothing out of the ordinary. They were just two important people, discussing important things, over overpriced drinks and a sham of a conversation.

"I'm sure you've got some _real_ benefactors, Doctor Isles," Jane's eyes shifted, aware that they were lingering too long on the luscious exposed skin of the doctor's neck. "I'm a small-timer."

Maura smiled, and shook her head lightly. Her earrings danced, and Jane was transfixed.

"Every one of our donors is important to me," she spoke softly, leaning close enough to let Jane feel her breath on her cheek. "Let me buy you a drink, Jane."

It wasn't a question, and therefore Jane was in no position to argue. They walked to a quieter side of the room, where the band was playing, and sat down. Maura ordered a glass of wine, and Jane simply ordered the same.

"I'm surprised to see you here."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Yeah, me too. I didn't know you were… one of these people."

Maura's face wrinkled almost imperceptibly, and Jane knew she'd hurt her.

"You're here too, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Jane snorted. She wanted to apologize, but instead came off sounding like more of an asshole. "Well, me and the Little League kids, you know? Add a little lower class flavor."

"Jane," Maura put her hand on her knee, and Jane immediately withdrew. This obviously annoyed the doctor. "This is all a charade. You do realize that, don't you? Everyone in this room is here for a reason other than the banner hanging over the door."

"I guess I just didn't realize that _everyone_ in this town is corrupt."

Maura leaned across, her body filling the space between them, her chest flush with anger.

"We all make deals with the devil, Jane. Some of us are just better negotiators than others."

There was a protracted silence, during which Jane unceremoniously slugged down her glass of wine. Maura fidgeted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs, driving Jane mad with each movement.

"You look beautiful," Jane murmured, half-ashamed to even be saying it. It felt like a surrender.

Maura smiled. "You're a wretched gambler."

"I don't mind losing to you."

"Bullshit," Maura laughed into her glass, drawing out the last sip. "A woman like you? Hates losing."

"Yeah, well," Jane feigned disinterest. "Whatever."

"Are you…" Maura looked around before continuing, "_packing_, Detective?"

Jane's apathy turned into a smirk. "Just this," she replied, revealing her badge and the outline of her holstered gun.

Maura tried to hide a gasp. "Is it… is it awful if I say that's as equally arousing as the other equipment you carry?"

"Awful?" Jane sighed and leaned back, exaggerating the jut of her hips as she did so. "No, I don't think it's awful. It's just too bad that this party could go on all night. Me, I can slip away. But you? Someone would surely notice your absence."

"Mm," Maura nibbled at her lower lip, and Jane felt her body involuntarily shudder. "That's very true."

A man approached them who seemed to know Maura, and they spoke in hushed tones briefly. As he scurried away, Maura was already making her apologies.

"I'd love to stay, Detective, and talk more about the clinic and the work we do…"

Jane waved her hand in the air dismissively, and let the bartender pour her yet another scotch.

"… but I've got to go. Please," Maura stepped between Jane's spread legs, "Let me get this drink. And if you make your way to the roulette wheel, please put twenty on fifteen for me, would you?"

Two folded twenties were gently pressed into Jane's hands before she could protest, and rather than waste the opportunity, Jane watched unabashedly as the doctor's sexy form slinked away. When she finally went to unwind the cash from her fingers, she realized Maura had passed her more than just money.

In her hand was a room key.

"Twenty on fifteen," Jane smiled, stashing the key in her breast pocket before downing her last drink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**RATED M.**

Maura's heart pounded in her chest as she slipped the passkey into the door and heard it click. She expected to find Jane in the room, and when she didn't, the feeling she was left with was empty and agonizing. That alone concerned her, and she double-checked each room of the suite both to be sure, and to distract herself from it.

She'd spent another couple of hours downstairs in the ballroom, chatting with benefactors and politicians and other doctors. It was what was expected of her, and Maura Isles always did what was she was supposed to do. She was expected to not just attend the best schools, but to excel in them, and she did. When it came time to choose a career, it was all but preordained that she would select one of the hardest, most demanding positions in her field. Her parents had extraordinary expectations, yes, but so did she. Nothing less would ever suffice, and so explained why she dawdled down there for hours, when really she wanted nothing more than to come up to this hotel suite and be with Jane Rizzoli.

But Jane was nowhere to be found, nary a wrinkle in the bedsheets or a tumbler out of place. It wasn't until she closed the door of the master bathroom that she noticed it, a shirt hanging from the hook there. She picked it up. Surveyed the fabric in her hands.

It was Jane's, the thin, smooth cotton of her collared shirt, white with a faint blue pinstripe. Inexplicably Maura found herself pressing it to her face, lightly so as not to smudge it with makeup, and inhaling deeply. It smelled of the other woman: clean, fresh notes but with a peaty hint of scotch.

She smiled and put it back on the hook, noting the care with which the detective had replaced the silver cufflinks in their eyelets. Maura slid out of her shoes right there in the bathroom, the heels settling loudly against the marble floor, and turned on the faucet. She was in the midst of freshening up when she heard the slap of the deadbolt turning in the door. Jane was back.

Maura didn't relish the awkward timing, her face still wet, her hair a mess, her makeup gone. But she hurriedly patted herself down with a towel and tried not to look as off-kilter as she felt when she stepped into the dimly lit bedroom.

Jane didn't say anything, only stood there. Her lanky frame was folded in the doorway, her jacket rumpled and loose, her stretched white tank top beneath it. She had a small bag in her hand, and tossed it onto the dresser without a word.

"You left."

Jane shrugged, her eyes almost black in the shadow of the lamplight.

"I came back."

"Where did you go?" Maura shifted on the balls of her feet, even at this distance aware of their height difference and feeling somewhat vulnerable. That was, she knew objectively, exactly what Jane had wanted. Still, it got to her.

"Got a couple drinks down the street. Made a few stops."

Vague, non-committal response. Maura grinned knowingly.

"You don't like not being in control. You wouldn't dare be caught _waiting _for a woman, would you?"

At this, Jane scoffed, and pushed off the wall, standing fully upright.

"You pretend to know everything about someone you've only barely met. You intellectualize, psychoanalyze, to avoid that uncomfortable feeling in your gut. Now who's the control freak?"

Maura crossed the room, nearer to Jane but still not close enough for her to reach her. She carefully removed her earrings and set them aside. She appraised the other woman for a moment, then sighed.

"You wanted me to know that you'd come back, though. You left your shirt. You're still beholden to the values you've always lived by."

"True," Jane hooked a thumb inside her belt. "Or maybe I was just _hot_."

"I don't think that's the case, Jane. Is that what you want me to think?"

Slowly, the detective stepped towards her, her body language neutral but her eyes unmistakably aggressive.

"What I want," she sighed back, "is whatever you want. You want a power struggle, I'll give you one. But before you answer that, why don't you check in the bag?"

She was so close now Maura could smell the alcohol on her breath and feel the radiating heat of her flushed skin. Jane's eyes were burrowing into her own, never wavering with each step she took, the anxiety inside Maura growing to a fever pitch. This was so typical for her, and she scolded herself for it. Calm and confident one minute, barely holding it together the next. Something had to give, and it wouldn't be her. If Jane thought she could manipulate her, she had another thing coming.

The tiny brown bag pushed into her hands, Maura examined it briefly, then cocked her brow.

Unfurling the top, the object inside felt square. Flat. Textured in a repeating pattern. Maura withdrew it from its sheath, and felt her jaw slacken ever so slightly.

Jane, now standing nearly on the tops of Maura's toes, pointed down at it.

"It's got gold flecks in it."

Maura turned it over, then turned it over again. She wanted to laugh, but what she felt welling up in her throat was surely more like a good cry. Sometimes she wished she was a little less _brain_and a little more intuition.

"What?" Jane laughed softly. "I thought all women liked chocolate."

"I," Maura hesitated, "I do. I just... wasn't expecting it. Is it... is this an apology?"

Now Jane groaned. "I haven't even done anything yet. This is why I don't date."

"Oh really?" Maura softened, turning her back to let Jane unclasp her necklace. "Is _that _why?"

The unexpected feel of Jane's hands on her shoulders made Maura's heart leap, the gentle swipe of her fingertips brushing aside strands of hair gave her goosebumps, and the tickle of her breath against her ear made Maura instantly wet.

"Among other reasons, yes," Jane's speech lilted, and Maura knew she was intoxicated. Not dangerously so, but enough to give the tension between them an exciting tinge of unpredictability. Maura had no idea how exciting until Jane pressed against her back more firmly. "There you go."

Jane set the necklace on the dresser, but Maura stood frozen, staring at their faces in the mirror. Over her shoulder, Jane followed her eyes.

"I may have stopped home, too. Very quickly." A smooth grin slid across Jane's angular features.

She was rock hard against the soft curve of Maura's ass.

"You didn't have to," Maura's voice dropped to a whisper. "We could've made love without it."

Jane rolled her eyes in the mirror. Not scornfully, but dramatically.

"_Making love _is not what I had in mind, Doctor."

The way she said it so matter-of-factly, the way she made Maura feel like a foregone conclusion, should've incensed her. But it only made her hotter.

"So this," Maura pushed the chocolate bar away with her finger, "is a bribe then?"

"Something like that," Jane groaned, peeling off her jacket and revealing her toned shoulders.

Maura's mouth went dry.

There was a heavy snap, and then a thud. Jane dropped the holstered gun onto the dresser, and Maura stared at it intently. She'd never held a gun. She'd seen them up close many times. Hell, she'd even had them shoved in her face once or twice. But the proximity of it, the oily smell, the way Jane wielded it as if _wasn't _incredibly dangerous...

"A preemptive apology, maybe."

They stared at each other once again in the mirror, and Maura could see her own chest rising and falling rapidly. This was what she had wanted all along. Under the scrutiny of the rest of the world, Maura had to be the apt pupil, the consummate professional, the perennial overachiever. She had to comport herself in a way that befit her station, her upbringing. But here, in the oversized mirror where the only gaze besides her own belonged to this beautiful stranger, Maura could let her hair down, and exhale.

"What're you going to do?"

She almost didn't want to know. The blurry line between anticipation and fear was powerful. But then again, so was the thrill of hearing Jane say the words. Exacting. Specific. Unrelenting. Whatever she chose, Maura was certain she'd be delighted.

Jane answered by way of kissing her neck, her lips making no sound at all as they grazed up and down her skin. Her hands, meanwhile, were holding Maura's hips, her grip so tight the shimmering fabric of the black dress collapsed. Dark curls fell over lighter ones, and Maura was content to just watch, and revel in the effect Jane's attentions had on her body.

Grinding the rigid cock into Maura's backside, Jane's hands moved methodically, climbing around her hips, up her front to grasp brusquely at her breasts, before disappearing behind Maura's back.

"What're you-" Maura started to ask again as she looked back, but Jane's hand flew to her cheek, silencing her with a light touch.

There was a noise, a clinking sound, metal on metal, and then a crank.

"Put your hands behind your back, please."

Jane spoke so softly, so meekly, Maura wasn't entirely sure she was even serious. But before she could ask, Jane was talking again.

"Behind your back. Please."

In the mirror, Jane was staring at her, waiting for her to comply. Not impatiently, not roughly, not with any discernible emotion at all. But her muscles twitched. The upper part of her chest, the pink and grey knotted scar on her shoulder. Her skin moved as though it were electrified, and the sheen of sweat developing over it would make for an explosive combination. Maura let her arms fall back, until they met behind her.

"Have I done something wrong?"

Maura's voice quivered, but Jane barely looked up from the task of fastening the handcuffs around her wrists. After each side ground shut, Jane tugged on the chain between them. Apparently satisfied, she slowly worked the zipper of Maura's strapless dress down, until it billowed open, and Jane could slide it free.

The strapless bra was, even Maura could admit, a farce when left on its own. Jane made a face in the mirror, the tiniest hint of a smirk, before snapping it off and letting it fall to the floor. It was never any match for Maura's assets.

With only sheer black panties and the thin metal of her restraints between them, Jane guided Maura by her hips, pulling her back away from the dresser, then slowly slid her hand up the curve of Maura's spine. Each watching the other, Jane brought her other hand around Maura's front, cradling her chin and caressing her cheek.

"Why do you ask that?" Jane hummed. "Does this feel like _punishment _to you?"

More kisses peppered her throat and collarbone. Her desire for Jane grew and grew, until she almost sobbed.

"I just thought..."

Jane smiled. "You have a beautiful mind, Maura. Really. But please, right now? Don't think."

If only it were that simple, Maura wanted to blurt out. But instead, she closed her eyes and let the feeling of Jane's hands supporting and massaging her breasts overtake her. Her nipples were so hard they ached, and when she thought of Jane's mouth on them, she involuntarily started to purse her own lips.

Jane must've been watching her still, because she laughed lightly into Maura's hair, and loosened her hold.

"I'm going to slide these off now," she whispered, slipping her fingers into Maura's panties and removing them, every agonizing inch down her legs like a trail of fire.

And then Jane was moving her again, turning her around to face her, but stepping back before Maura could use the other woman as cover. She was naked, her hands cuffed behind her, exposed to Jane's unwavering stare.

""Time to give you what you want."

That made Maura blush thoroughly, from top to bottom and between her legs. And what came next aroused her even more.

Jane sat down on the edge of the bed and unzipped her pants. The sound was as alluring as the sight of it, the cock in her hands hard and ready and tantalizing. Maura gazed at it longingly, not caring that she looked like an animal in heat. She squirmed against the restraints, and Jane just shook her head.

"I know you like to _play it safe_," she exaggerated the phrase, tearing into the wrapper of condom with her teeth. "Honestly it kind of makes me hot, too. Fuck if I know why."

As Jane unrolled it, Maura tried her voice again. It came out deep and accusatory, which made her quite proud. She knew what it would do to Jane.

"Because I don't know you. Because you're just a stranger l let fuck me."

"Mm," Jane was pulling her pants all the way off and kicking them to the floor. "That might be it. But you're going to have to trust me. At least a little bit."

"And why is that?" Maura stepped forward, finding her courage growing at the sight of Jane's thin, muscular thighs. Now Maura saw her, saw what she wanted, and it empowered her. She wanted Jane, and would have her.

"Because I could do anything I wanted to you right now, and you couldn't stop me."

That momentarily stunned her, the truth of it. She'd let herself be handcuffed by a woman with a gun. That she hadn't considered Jane anything less than completely trustworthy said volumes about the unspoken connection they had, the feeling that Maura tried so hard to ignore.

"But don't worry," Jane sighed, "I have a feeling we want the same thing. Now come sit on my lap, won't you?"

Her eyebrow rose playfully, her gaze darting from Maura's body to the toy. Maura stepped forward again, but Jane shook her head.

"Not _that way_, dear."

Maura turned around slowly, realizing how Jane wanted her, but she didn't have much time to get accustomed to it. Jane's hand was already between her legs, spreading her. Testing her. Maura couldn't see Jane, but she could see herself once again in the mirror, hands behind her back. She was about to watch herself get fucked by Jane Rizzoli.

One hand tugged down hard on the handcuffs, pulling Maura roughly towards the head of Jane's cock. The other grabbed a thick mound of the flesh of Maura's ass, pushing it up and out of the way as Jane entered her. The sensation was rough. Sudden. Maura cried out, her moans reverberating throughout the room.

"Don't you dare say my name," Jane cautioned her from behind. "Don't you dare do it."

Of course, given the restriction, now that was all Maura wanted to do. Jane was pushing her and pulling her, up and down over the shaft, hard and fast. Keeping quiet was simply not an option. So she moaned and grunted anything and everything else that came to mind, aware of how it might sound but not giving a damn.

Jane used her bound wrists like reins, and Maura's shoulders began to burn. When she leaned forward, the penetration was so deep she could barely breathe. There was some degree of pain everywhere, but the moment she became aware of it, it was washed away by the whispers of her impending orgasm.

Closer. Closer. Harder. Closer. Deeper. Closer.

Jane's hand snaked around her belly and dipped lower, taking Maura past that one final step, and into oblivion. Primal instinct took over, and Maura rode out the sensation, teeth bared and hair wild down her back, until her legs threatened to buckle.

Without saying a word, Jane waited until Maura had slowed herself down before bodily dragging both of them onto the bed. They laid there, awkwardly connected and Maura still handcuffed, for a few minutes.

"Don't kill me for what I'm about to do," Jane spoke into her ear, but Maura was only vaguely aware of what she said.

Until Jane was pulling out of her, and Maura yelped.

"Oh Christ," she buried her head into the downy blankets. "Oh, my god."

Jane was behind her somewhere, messing around in the pockets of her pants, until she slid back in alongside Maura, still chuckling.

"Sorry. Had to. Let me..." she was unlocking the handcuffs. "You really took that like a champ, Doctor Isles."

"Oh, god," was all Maura could manage. Her body was screaming, every muscle, every tendon, every_where_. "Jane."

Finally she could say it. Quietly, softly, but she could say it. She wondered what the other woman would do, what her reaction would be. Always a victim of her own doubt, Maura half-expected that by the time she raised her head from the bed, Jane would be gone.

But she wasn't. In fact, she was pulling the blankets around them both, and smoothing Maura's hair with her hands.

"Your wrists hurt? I could get some ice."

"No," Maura mumbled, eyes still closed. "They'll be okay."

For several minutes they stayed like that, Jane's now naked body curled against her own, until Maura's breathing returned to normal, and she could roll over in the embrace to face her.

"You're still here."

There was no inflection in her voice, so Jane just crumpled her brow.

"Try that again."

Maura smiled. "You're still here."

"I'm still here."

Realization hit Maura. "You didn't come."

And she was rolling Jane over onto her back, but the detective fought back, pushing them both back down.

"It's okay to owe me one. I'm..."

"Pretty drunk anyway?"

"You could say that."

Maura felt daring, with Jane's guard lowered, and her eyes fluttering shut. She reached out and touched Jane's lips with her fingertips, and let them graze across the skin there.

"Last person who did that lost a hand."

One eye opened to Maura's shocked expression, and then Jane laughed.

"I'm just kidding. Relax."

Maura sighed, the wetness between her legs not showing any signs of going away.

"Can I kiss you?"

Jane pretended to put up a fight, then relented. "Of course you can."

Her hands at Jane's cheeks, Maura sat up and kissed Jane properly for the first time that night. Her tongue and lips issued her many thanks, a warm, wet gratitude for Jane's rather amazing performance. It felt so good kissing her that Maura didn't stop, tasting Jane and exploring her for a long, long while.

When they finally separated, Maura was throbbing again.

Jane seemed relaxed, content to hold Maura in her arms, but Maura wanted more. She had a tendency to get this way. Unsure of when her next chance would come, she wanted all of Jane that she could have. For all she knew, this could be the last time they would be together like this.

Quietly, Maura slid over Jane's body, intertwining their legs until she felt Jane's heat against her own thigh. Jane murmured something, something pleasurable, because a smile crept across her face.

"Shh," Maura commanded the best way she knew how. "I just... just let me."

She started grinding lightly against Jane's leg, feeling a bit foolish but knowing what she needed. She'd had something hard. Something thick and hard inside of her. And now she wanted something _soft_, something smooth against her own smoothness. And since they'd both exhausted themselves, this would have to do.

"That, ah," Jane whispered, "that feels good."

"It does," Maura kept her face close to Jane's. "Is it okay? I'm so wet, I can't-"

"Don't stop," Jane replied simply, her eyes shut.

So she didn't. She held them both together, held Jane's face in her hands, and listened to what the other woman's body told her. Eventually, Jane began whispering things. Words Maura wasn't able to understand. But when Jane said her name, softly like she was afraid of breaking it, it brought her very near the edge.

"Maura, please..." Jane sounded ready as well.

"Shh," Maura breathed into her ear. "Come with me, Jane."

* * *

The first fingers of daylight crept into the room, falling across the bedsheets and landing unceremoniously on Maura's closed eyelids. The brightness awoke her, and she tried to swat it away as if it were a ribbon or a feather tickling her.

Rolling over, she came around more clearly, and felt the other side of the bed.

It was cold.

Sitting up slowly, Maura realized that Jane was gone. On her pillow sat the foil-wrapped chocolate bar, gold flakes and all.

Maura smiled wistfully.

"A preemptive apology."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Maura's office in the clinic, a small room off the main hallway, was nothing like the expansive suite she occupied in the neurology wing of BCU. Instead of high ceilings and a mahogany desk, she got artificially cheery yellow cinderblock and pressed particle board. But it served its purpose nonetheless, providing the doctor with space to go over patients' medical records as well as deal with the day-to-day tasks of running the clinic itself.

As chairman, Maura oversaw every aspect of the organization, an atypical contribution from a benefactor with such largess. In the social circles Maura ran with, it was far more common to see a doctor or a lawyer or a politician donate large sums of money while keeping their hands conspicuously free of any real work.

Doctor Isles did not see things that way.

Her mother had warned her how labor intensive this community endeavor would be, but Maura was never swayed by others' doubts. She believed in the project and so far it was a success, although soon the building's lease would be up for renewal, and negotiations were going to be a bear. A developer wanted to buy the building and its surrounding property and turn it into the next big Boston hot spot. Maura understood the economics of the free market just fine, but it didn't mean she had to like it.

The clinic was not open to patients this early, so when she heard voices outside her door, it drew her attention but only for a moment. By the time her door swung open, her chin was back resting on the heel of her hand, her eyes scanning a medical supply requisition form with an almost obsessive intensity.

"Doctor Isles, I'm sorry…"

She looked up and found one of the volunteers, a medical assistant, leaning into the tiny room, her blue scrubs sagging over her arm.

"It's okay. What is it, Doreen?"

"There's a woman here to see you. She says she's a _patient_," Doreen's eyes rolled. "Says she needs to speak with you and that it's very urgent."

Maura would've panicked if not for the comical face Doreen was making, and the playful way she spun her finger around near her ear, indicating that whoever it was behind the door was, to put it bluntly, a little nuts.

"She says her name is Annie Oakley?" the assistant could barely keep the laughter out of her voice.

Maura smiled at her. "Send her in. And don't go too far, will you?"

Doreen winked at her. "No prob."

She stepped aside and let the patient in, and immediately Maura's stomach churned. Annie Oakley, it turned out, was a lanky, lengthy whip of a woman, black curls untamed and jeans frayed at the knees.

"I need a CAT scan. Or a PET scan. Or some kind of domesticated animal scan."

Maura frowned, but she knew it wasn't very convincing.

"Please close the door, Miss Oakley."

Jane Rizzoli did as she asked, closing the door and then leaning her back flat against it.

"It smells like Lemon Pledge and moth balls in here."

"You shouldn't be here," Maura hissed. "Are you crazy?"

Jane shrugged. "Kinda. Told you I need a scan of some kind."

Motioning to the chair in front of her desk, Maura gave in, realizing quickly that she wasn't going to be able to sweep _Annie Oakley_ out of her office with just a reprimand.

"And why is that?"

The detective smiled broadly, a grin that overtook all of her features. She was beautiful, and utterly pleased with herself.

"Because I can't get you out of my mind."

"Oh my god," Maura rolled her eyes and shook her head. "A bit risky to come here just to deliver a stale pickup line, don't you think?"

Jane nodded, but appeared to have moved on to other subjects.

"The nurse told me you don't see patients here. Why's that?"

Maura sighed, and closed the folder that was open in front of her.

"I'm a brain surgeon, Jane. This is a community clinic. People come here with colds. Broken bones. That sort of thing."

"So? You're a doctor aren't you?"

"It's complicated."

"What then?" Jane leaned back in the chair and spread her legs. Maura couldn't avert her stare in time. "Risking life and limb to see you doesn't earn me a straight answer?"

For someone she barely knew, Jane had a way of pushing Maura's buttons that was unlike any other person she'd ever met. There were no easy outs with Jane. There was no skirting the issue. Maura found, almost against her will, that she liked that about the other woman.

"My interaction with patients is fairly minimal. Even at BCU, Jane. I explain the procedure, I answer questions, and that's it. The rest of the time, my patients are anesthetized."

"For their benefit or your own?" Jane smirked.

"Both," she sighed. "Why the inquisition? I seem to remember the last time we saw each other, someone crawled out of my bed before I awoke. Shouldn't _I_ be grilling _you_?"

Just the mere mention of that night brought fresh color to Maura's face. She could feel it rising, and feel Jane's eyes following the blush across her cheeks.

"I want to take you out."

Maura stared at her plainly.

"You know that's impossible."

Jane put both hands on the edge of Maura's desk, closing the space between them. It was a tactic, and it worked. Maura imagined Jane was a very efficient interrogator.

"Not if we go somewhere we know we won't be recognized. Somewhere Doyle's men don't tread. Somewhere my drug boys don't tread. Somewhere safe."

"Is there any such thing?" Maura could smell Jane when she stood this close, and it was clouding her judgement. "You shouldn't have come here."

"I know that," she whispered. "I know that. But I can't stop thinking about you."

Maura felt her pulse quicken at the words, at the way Jane stared at her so intently. Such focus, her desire narrowed like a laser, and Maura felt almost powerless to say no.

On a piece of paper Jane scribbled an address, her penmanship a hard, furious parallel to the detective's demeanor. Maura nodded and slipped the paper from beneath Jane's fingers, crumpling it unceremoniously into a desk drawer.

Satisfied, Jane stepped back and straightened up, her long form filling the cramped room.

"For the record, Doctor," she spoke softly. Sincerely, but with a hidden smile. "You have an excellent bedside manner. I have the scars to prove it."

* * *

The bar, surprisingly, was exactly as Jane remembered it seven years ago. Caught in that weird place where the city was just ending and the suburbs started to sprout, it occupied a no man's land that was perfect for her purposes.

Her first time in here, Jane started having second thoughts about being even a part-time lesbian. The clientele was then as it was now, typical Massholes, Provincetown rejects that couldn't afford the trip, and Western bumpkins that thought this was some kind of big city venue. But it was safe, with its 80s decor and framed beer posters on the wall. The signs of its gay-friendliness were subtle, and while Jane didn't normally advocate for hiding, in this instance it couldn't hurt to surround themselves with people as worried about being found out as she and Maura would be.

Jane arrived early, wanting to stake the place out before Maura arrived. Instead of starting in right away with a beer, she spun the straw in her Coke and listened to the country music from the only thing new in the place- a digital jukebox that hung on the wall, garishly bright and out of place. For five dollars Jane could pick her own music, but she didn't want to risk ticking off any of the local mullets, so instead she just tapped her foot to the all-too-familiar tale of woe.

It wasn't exactly like the record came to a screeching halt when Maura walked in the door, but it was damn close. Beers didn't clink. Cue balls rolled silently across the felt. And every swinging metaphorical dick in the place turned to watch the conspicuously gorgeous woman cross the room, look nervously around, and wait.

Jane held up two fingers. Waved her over. Immediately Maura's shoulders relaxed, the need for her protective stance gone. It filled Jane with a burst of pride, to be honest. Maura trusted her.

"Hey," Jane greeted her by pulling out her chair.

"Hi."

Maura was smiling, but it was a different smile than Jane had been privy to before. This wasn't the overtly sexual woman that had seduced her in the hotel bar. This wasn't the confident doctor that had invited Jane over to fuck. This was a woman, on her first date with another woman.

Jane was practically giddy.

"I'm sorry I'm a few minutes late. It was harder to find this place than I expected."

"S'ok. That was the point, right?" Jane winked at her.

"I suppose it was." Maura sat up a little, smoothing her skirt beneath her legs, and Jane watched with unabashed interest. "What?"

"I should've told you this place is like, super casual. Super, super casual."

The doctor shrugged. "It wouldn't have mattered."

Jane laughed. "You do look nice. I'll give you that."

"Thank you," Maura looked away demurely, and Jane wanted to kiss her right then and there. "Do we have a waitress or should I…"

Jane stood up slowly, pushing the legs of her jeans back down. "Let me. What can I get you?"

Maura looked around. "Whatever you're having is fine."

"Alright," Jane squeezed her shoulder as she moved towards the bar. "Don't go anywhere, okay?"

* * *

Maura Isles was the most active listener Jane had ever met. She was constantly jumping in with facts and figures, but somehow in the least obtrusive way possible. It never felt like Maura was interrupting; it felt like she was _enhancing_.

"That's a long-held belief about young women in boarding schools, but I've found it to be patently false. In my experience, anyway. The girls were sexually active, yes, but with young males their own age mostly. They weren't hard to find, as there was an all-male school only two towns away."

Jane frowned. "You just ruined my teenage fantasy."

"Oh," Maura pinched her features into something resembling pity. "I'm so sorry. If it helps, I was a virgin, even through my last year."

A bubble of beer slipped from Jane's lips. "Jeez, ahh," she wiped at it furiously. "Yeah, I mean… yes? That's… interesting."

Maura was smiling again, running her finger over and around the opening of the bottle in front of her. It was still half-full.

"You don't like the beer."

"The company is more than making up for it."

Finishing off her own, Jane pushed it to the center of the table.

"You're very honest, but in a sweet way. You'll have to teach me that sometime."

"I can't lie. I mean, I can, but I'm terrible at it. Very bad."

Jane's eyebrow rose. "That's not so good, considering how you and I met."

"It has been difficult," Maura laughed lightly, chewing through her french fry before continuing. "Maybe you can teach me a thing or two as well."

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Maura watching some of the patrons on the dance floor, and Jane took the opportunity to admire the other woman in a rare pose, blithely unaware. Her legs were folded, on atop the other, and her calves flexed in time to the music. Tendrils of her hair moved too, and Jane wondered how it was that she managed to coordinate all that when she herself could barely chew gum and walk at the same time. She should've known then that Maura would ask her to dance.

"We could, you know?" Maura turned back to her, and Jane tried to play off her obvious staring. "Dance, that is."

"What? Oh. Ah," she reclaimed her empty beer bottle and started peeling off the label. "I haven't danced since my mother made me take ballet."

Maura giggled. "And when was that?"

Jane narrowed her eyes, Maura obviously delighting in her discomfort.

"A long ass time ago, okay?"

"So that's a no?" Maura's eyes wrinkled at the corners, and Jane nearly melted.

Nearly.

"That's a maybe."

The doctor seemed to accept the answer for a moment, but then continued.

"I'd let you lead. You know, considering."

"Considering what?" Jane willed her face to give away nothing, even if she knew exactly why Maura would say such a thing. It was more fun to make her squirm a little.

"Considering," Maura held her palms up in front of her, as if that would explain something. Jane didn't budge an inch. "Considering you're... you have a very masculine energy."

"A what?" Jane's mouth fell open. "Oh that's rich. Maybe I'm just putting on airs. What do you know?"

Maura must've sensed she was being toyed with, because she stuck her tongue out petulantly.

"You don't give me enough credit. I'm far more observant than that."

Jane nodded. "Yes, you're right. Can't get anything by you, Doc. What was your first clue? My swagger?"

The doctor fired right back, but lowered her voice and leaned in closely before answering.

"I was going to say the persistent _erection_ you always seem to have in my presence."

Outdone, Jane slapped a hand to her forehead. She rubbed over her eyes briefly, then peered at Maura through separated fingers.

"Maybe I oughta just give you that dance, huh?"

When Jane tugged her out onto the dance floor, Maura felt an ease and a rapport she didn't often share with male partners, even those who were arguably much better dancers than the detective. The music was slow, and there was no need for formality or really any form at all, and that alone made the experience quite unique. There were a few other couples on the floor, but it wasn't the centerpiece of the bar. Pool balls still thwacked from the opposite end of the room.

Jane looped her arm around Maura's waist, and pulled her close. They were almost evenly matched in height now, with Maura in heels and Jane in flats. She flinched for a second, and Jane spoke softly in her ear, their faces pressed cheek-to-cheek.

"What's wrong?"

"My shoes," Maura whispered, even though it wasn't necessary. "They're killing me."

"Ah," Jane's breath was warm, and Maura could feel her smile. "So take 'em off."

Maura shook her head. "I can't!"

"Maura, we're in a bar drinking PBR and dancing to a jukebox. There's a guy in a plaid vest over there." Jane danced them around so that Maura could see. "Do you really think it matters?"

She laughed, and buried her face against Jane's shoulder.

"Fine. Help me out."

Jane took her by the elbows and held fast while Maura snuck out of the offending heels, first the left then the right, and kicked them out of the way with her toe. When she settled back in Jane's embrace, she was several inches shorter.

"Better?" Jane looked down at her, long eyelashes just begging for Maura to brush her lips across them.

"Better."

For the next three minutes, Maura gave in to the dream that Jane had constructed for them. That they were just two people getting to know each other. That they _could_ know each other. That they could have more than just this dance if they wanted to. It felt so good that Maura didn't protest when Jane brought her hands to the nape of her neck, stroking her cheek and chin with her thumbs. She stared straight into deep brown eyes and smiled, as though they were alone in this bar, this town. The world.

"The more I learn about you, Maura Isles," Jane whispered, "the more I want to know."

"Me too."

But she looked off. "That scares the shit out of me."

"Me too," Maura repeated, brushing her lips against Jane's neck. "Me too."

Maura wanted to kiss her, but she waited. She didn't want to share that moment with anyone else.

"Take me home with you, Jane."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Notes: REMINDER OF M RATING. Be advised. Thanks.**

* * *

There were no lights on in her apartment except for the overhead stove bulb that Jane left on before heading out earlier in the evening. She guided Maura in the door and told her to wait there, not wanting to risk them both fumbling around in the dark. But she felt safer leaving them off, knowing that if anyone _was_ to drive by or look in, they wouldn't find anything worth sticking around for. She was confident that by now, Doyle's men trusted her, knowing she had so much- her career, her family- on the line. Still, it couldn't hurt to be extra careful.

She tried to push thoughts of those things out of her mind as she picked up a few stray pieces of laundry from the floor and shoved them into a basket. Her place was neat enough, but it was small compared to Maura's palatial home, and she didn't want the doctor's first impression of her "real" life to be a pair of dirty socks.

Flicking the wheel on a lighter she found in the drawer, Jane lit a candle and left it on the nightstand before returning to Maura, who was waiting with her hands folded around her purse near the front door.

"Come on in," Jane reached out her hand. "Don't mind the-"

"Oh," Maura gasped. "What is _that_?"

The canvas dummy hung from its stand in the corner, lording over them like a creepy roommate. Jane laughed into the stillness.

"Gotta keep my skills sharp."

Maura made a face that Jane could barely discern in the shadows.

"Can't you do something safe? Like yoga?"

"Sure," Jane took her hand and walked her into the bedroom. "We'll do yoga tomorrow. Right after brunch and before we go for a stroll on the Common."

It was probably the wrong thing to say, a joke that wasn't remotely funny. But Maura let it pass without so much as a word, just a wistful grin and squeeze of Jane's palm.

They both stood in the doorway of her bedroom, Jane looking towards the bed then thinking the better of it, not wanting to appear to expectant or single-minded.

"It's nice in here," Maura looked around while Jane pushed her hands into the pocket of her jeans. At least they were mutually stalling. "Very warm."

"Thanks," Jane shrugged off the compliment. "My mother hates it. Right down to the drapes."

Why was she bringing up her mother when she was about to have sex with Maura? And why was it suddenly so awkward to imagine engaging a woman who, less than two weeks ago, she was handcuffing and humping into oblivion?

Jane was clasping her head in her hands when she felt Maura pry them away from her face.

"I know this must be hard for you."

"It's not."

Maura smiled at her, the candlelight flickering in her eyes. "It's different for me. I can let someone in and not think twice about it. Into my home, into my bed. It's the rest I'm inept at. But you, you seem so open, with your heart at least. You're kind and warm. But to have someone in your space... it's hard for you, I can tell."

"You're reading too much into it."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are," Jane straightened the necklace around Maura's neck, moving the clasp around so it was in back where it belonged. It felt silly, but she couldn't stop herself. "I'm just nervous."

Maura laughed.

"I didn't expect you to say that. Nervous, hm?"

Jane nodded. "This was easier when it was just sex."

"It was, wasn't it?" Maura pursed her lips. "Do you want me to go?"

"No," Jane brought a hand to her forehead once again, rubbing at the invisible tension there. "I want a lot of things, but you leaving is not one of them."

Feeling the enormity of the situation only growing between them, Jane stepped away, and turned to open her closet door.

"Do you want something more comfortable?" She was already rooting through the back shelves, trying to find something the other woman might find appropriate. "Something to wear, I mean. To... oh."

When she turned back around, Maura had already slipped out of her blouse, breasts filling her pale blue bra in a way Jane had only seen in the pages of a catalog. Before she could say anything else, Maura spun around, her hair falling in waves over her shoulder.

"Unzip me?"

Unconsciously, Jane licked her lips.

"Sure."

The skirt's zipper was snug, so Jane had to wrap her fingers tightly around the fabric and the pull, and Maura snickered.

"You're better at this when you're drunk."

"Give me a break. It's not every day I have such a beautiful woman in my bedroom."

She resumed her concentration, and after doubling her efforts and cursing lightly under her breath, Jane managed to get the zipper down and the skirt over Maura's curvaceous hips. It wasn't until Maura faced her again that she saw the look on her face.

"What?"

Maura's head tilted, and Jane's heart fluttered. Could it really be that Maura wasn't used to hearing such things about herself?

"That's a very sweet thing to say, Jane." On her tiptoes, Maura planted a chaste kiss on Jane's chin. "Let me."

Her hands walked up Jane's torso and started undoing the buttons of Jane's shirt, her fingers swift and dexterous.

"What?" Maura looked up at her.

"Not a wasted movement."

"I'm a surgeon. My hands are my very precise. It's the rest of me that tends to ramble on."

"And on..." Jane smiled.

"And on," Maura affirmed. "How's the shoulder?"

"All good."

Maura pushed Jane's shirt back, and reflexively she clenched her abdomen. Not out of vanity. Jane was just a tiny bit ticklish.

She pressed at the scar and the surrounding tissue, and Jane let her, pretending to look off somewhere else. The heat of her hands, though, was tantalizing.

"How about range of motion?" Maura was already raising Jane's arm by the elbow.

"Do we have to do this in my _bra_, Doctor?"

Maura laughed, but kept at her manipulations of Jane's shoulder. "I could take it off if you'd like?"

"That's not..." Jane scowled. "That's not what I meant."

Maura stopped her exploring hands and stared her straight in the eye, a serious expression on her face.

"What about that concussion you suffered several months ago? Any lingering effects?"

She was trailing a finger in front of her face before she could answer, and dutifully Jane followed with her eyes.

"Has my physical stamina been a problem in the past?"

Maura frowned disapprovingly and sailed right on by Jane's dig.

"Headaches? Nausea? Having any trouble maintaining your balance?"

Jane snatched Maura's finger from the air and pulled it to her chest.

"What is this all about?"

Avoiding her gaze, Maura shook her head and pulled away. Sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for Jane to unbuckle her pants.

"Whatever," Jane muttered, and climbed under the sheets. "Just c'mere."

She'd unsettled Maura, and for the life of her Jane couldn't figure out how to right things. She didn't refuse her, sliding neatly alongside her in the bed, but any idiot could feel the distance between them.

In the darkened room they both laid there, staring at the ceiling. Jane realized just how much Maura talked when she finally stopped saying anything at all. It was unnerving.

"Hey," Jane rolled over, her right arm tucked under the pillow. "Sorry. I'm just not used to anybody fussing over me."

Maura looked down at her. "No, don't apologize. It's the only way I know how to show someone I care."

"That can't be true," Jane smiled. "You've been charming the pants off me all night. You're not clueless."

"Sometimes I feel like I am. I didn't... while you were telling me about your family, I have to admit, I was jealous. Social interactions, relationships. It all comes so naturally to you."

"You really think you suck that bad?"

Maura made a face. "Yes, I really think I _suck that bad_."

Jane was laughing before the words even came out of her mouth. "So those other nights, at your house. In the hotel. Who was that confident seductress?"

"Seduction is mind and body. It has nothing to do with the heart."

Lacing her fingers with Maura's over the sheets, Jane took a minute to sort out what she wanted to say. It was difficult, knowing that tomorrow Jane had to go to work as narcotics detective, and Maura would return to the hospital. Their worlds rarely collided, and when they did, half the time it was for purposes decidedly unlawful. Not to mention unethical.

"I care about you, Maura. But let's just take this one thing at a time, okay? Right now, you're here with me, and I'm _so happy_ about that. Had I known that administering a complete physical was your way of saying you care about me too? Well then, I would've shut up and cooperated. Don't worry about changing who you are. All I want to do is get to know you, just as you are."

She could feel Maura take a deep breath, her eyes straight ahead. There was a beat, and then she slid down, rolling onto her side to face Jane. Her countenance was indecipherable.

"Is that just pillow talk, Jane? I have to know, because I don't think I can-"

"I don't have to sweet talk you to get you into bed, remember? I'm not the best at this either. Let's just try it. Together."

As she spoke Maura was staring at her lips, and Jane could feel her inching closer. Just before their mouths met, Jane couldn't fight a smile, and it turned into an awkward, nose-bumping affair.

"You're right," Jane mumbled through the kiss. "I am better at this when I'm drunk."

Maura hummed into her mouth, and it reverberated in Jane's chest.

"I prefer you this way, though."

"Good," Jane parted Maura's lips with her tongue. "So do I."

Kissing was an activity Jane didn't do nearly enough of. It was always so perfunctory for her, a gateway to the ultimate goal. Men, women, it didn't matter. Jane just wasn't much of a kisser. She wasn't much of an intimacy person in general. But kissing Maura felt good. It was nice, easy, and it didn't hurt that their lips fit perfectly together.

Their bodies did too, it turned out, as they slid slowly towards one another like continents reuniting. There was a kiss, a long taste, then they moved closer. Another kiss, another inch. It made Jane's muscles burn, the way she felt after a punishing run, only instead of fatigue, they felt energized. With each pass of her tongue, Maura was charging Jane, making her stronger. After several minutes like that, Jane felt unstoppable. Huge. The other woman seemed tiny in her arms.

"Take these off," Jane started to pull down Maura's panties, but didn't want to separate long enough to finish the job. Maura obeyed, and Jane wriggled out of her own. "Don't stop."

Their mouths never parted, sucking and tugging and nibbling. It was erotic, the wet noises like a soundtrack to their extended foreplay. Jane would've laughed if she wasn't so singularly focused on the body next to hers. She'd never been so turned on in her life.

"Touch you..."

It made no sense, really, but Maura understood, shifting and opening her legs slightly.

"Me too."

Jane couldn't play dumb. Didn't want to. She spread her legs too, pulling Maura's upper body over hers to give them room to maneuver.

Between them was a tangle, arms and sweat-slicked hair, but this was the truest Jane had felt in a long time, true to herself and not a performance for her lover or, as was most often the case, for herself. It wasn't neat and it certainly wasn't the most logical, but soon Jane found her fingers inside Maura, and Maura's inside her.

"Oh god," Maura whispered, hungrily attacking Jane's mouth with renewed fervor. "So good."

Maura's body was perfect, inside and out. She was smooth and warm and ready to receive her. There wasn't any way to reach deeper, so Jane worked two fingers just inside her entry, drawing out low, lustful moans with each stroke.

Concentrating was difficult, though, because Maura had her own ideas in mind for Jane. She had more leverage, and was pushing into her as far as she could. Slowly, steadily, Jane felt her body take whatever Maura was giving and hold it there, movement an almost impossible afterthought.

It was crazy. They were fucking like teenagers, bras still on, lips sliding all over each other's faces like they'd never done this before. But it felt right, and Jane didn't want to ruin it with too much analysis.

"Jane," Maura was panting, "This... this is so good. But I'm afraid I won't be able to make you climax like this."

Leave it to Doctor Isles to overanalyze.

"Don't care," Jane just kept assaulting her mouth with her tongue.

"Everyone... everyone cares about getting off, Jane."

The sucking sound as they parted was abrupt, almost comical.

"This is more," Jane had to stop to blow a strand of hair from her face. "This is more than a means to end, Maura. I wanna feel you. I wanna feel you feeling me."

Lips trembling, Maura didn't speak.

"Don't. Don't you dare cry on me," Jane kissed her hard on the lips, mouth closed. "Don't you dare."

Maura was nodding, although not very convincingly.

"I won't. I'm not. I'm not."

"Good," Jane took advantage of Maura's lowered guard and pressed deeper into her. "Feel that?"

"God, yes."

They kept at it, grinding and grasping at anything and everything that wasn't nailed down. Somehow the straps of Maura's bra had fallen, and her tits were spilling out of the top of it. She caught Jane looking down at them and it was instantly advantage Maura.

"Tell me."

Jane shook her head. "Just keep-"

"_Tell me_," Maura adopted her earlier bedroom demeanor, giving Jane what for in two words or less.

"Ah..."

"You like them, Jane?" she was whispering, but that didn't mean she was any less commanding.

"Yes. I love them."

They were kissing again, Maura gently sucking on Jane's tongue as it entered her mouth. She was damn good at that.

"I like being inside you. You're so tough on the outside, and so _soft_ on the inside."

It wasn't fair. Maura had stripped down Jane's defenses, even flopped around in the grass like a bird with an injured wing, to cut straight to the core of her. And now that they were simply Jane and Maura and not caricatures of themselves, she was asking for more. Jane could talk dirty. Jane could _fuck_ dirty, but not without the safety of an act. An illusion.

She was about to clam up, to refuse, until she saw Maura close her eyes. Eyelids fluttered shut, eyelashes immaculately curled over her cheeks. She was so serene, so open, and so painfully beautiful.

"My god, Maura..." she breathed, long and cleansing. "Your pussy is perfect."

Jane thought she'd be more surprised at herself, but it actually sounded quite natural. She meant it. It was perfect.

And Maura responded enthusiastically, a strangled moan giving way to a bruising kiss.

"Perfect for you."

"Yes," Jane hissed. "Perfect."

It was a word. One word. A word she'd used a thousand times. But every time she said it, Maura got tighter. Pushed a little harder into Jane. Pretty soon they were both having a hard time keeping eyes open and mouths closed.

"Give me that perfect pussy."

She was rolling over now, still giving Maura access to her but craving more for herself.

"Give it to me," Jane whispered right into Maura's mouth, feeling her hot breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

"Jesus, Jane."

That was the coherent thing Maura said before she came, clenching hard around Jane's fingers over and over again. Seeing her like that, watching her entire orgasm from start to finish, gave Jane a sense of clarity that she'd been lacking. Not just in the past few weeks, but for her whole life. Watching Maura unfold like that, in the absolute purest way possible, reawakened something inside of Jane. She was almost scared to find out what it was.

There wasn't time for that now, though. Maura recovered swiftly, smiling impishly before disappearing under the sheets.

"What're you-"

Expertly Maura began to work her tongue between Jane's legs while continuing to push inside of her. It felt amazing, and Jane felt like she should say so, but found she had no voice. Instead she could only breathe. Breathe, and wind her fingers through Maura's smooth hair, gently running her nails down her scalp.

Eventually, a word escaped. Two words, actually.

"Fuck me."

That _did_ surprise Jane, enough to send her toppling over the edge with no advanced notice, her body spasming so hard she pulled the top sheet off the bed. Maura remained out of sight for a while, letting Jane come down and peppering her thighs with slick, wet kisses.

"Jesus," Jane sighed, feeling a little embarrassed and disoriented. It was unlike her to enjoy sex _like that_, and to have enjoyed it so much was unprecedented. "Maura..."

Her voice sounded whiny- a little needy, even- to her own ears, so she frowned into the darkness. When Maura appeared beside her, Jane swept a few curls behind the other woman's ear.

"And you said we'd never get off that way."

Maura giggled, burying her head in the crook of Jane's neck. "Clearly I'd never done that with a woman of your considerable skill before."

"Clearly."

Maura's hand had somehow found its way between them and Jane nestled it with her own.

"You have the sexiest voice I have ever heard in my entire life."

Jane scoffed. "I doubt that."

"You could read the phone book and it would get me aroused."

"Gee, that sounds… weird."

Jane was dangerously comfortable with the other woman pressed against her, but she decided to push her worries off just a couple more hours.

"Stay," she whispered into a kiss. "We'll sneak you out in the morning."


	5. Chapter 5

The drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel was driving Jane insane.

"Look," she exhaled sharply. "It's exactly like I told you. Nothing more, nothing less."

Her recently-assigned partner, Barry Frost, didn't look at her.

"You don't trust me."

He really wasn't hearing her, was he?

"That's not it, Frost. That's not it. I've been doing this a long time, okay? And it just wasn't the right fit. Exactly like I said."

He huffed. "So it's because I'm _black_? You serious right now?"

The car suddenly felt too small. She wanted to open a window, but the driving rain made that unwise. Instead she turned the air vent towards her face, and fiddled with the dial.

"You're new, Frost, but you'll get it. Think about it: white woman like me, walks into a place like that with a black guy? Never gonna happen. Just... never."

Working narcotics wasn't always politically correct or polite, but it was Jane's unyielding honesty and directness that got her this far on the department. She wasn't about to stop now.

"It's the twenty-first century, Jane-"

"Not in that club. Not to Albertson. And that's how you gotta think, if you want to be any good. Know your target. And Albertson would've got a hair up his ass if he saw me with you. Maybe not totally hinked out, but it would've given him pause. Which is what we don't want. We don't want them thinking, we want them reacting."

Frost's mouth curled into a begrudging smile. "And he was reacting like _whoa_ to that ass of yours."

"Shut up," Jane shoved him from across the center console. "You'll learn to work what you've got as a UC. I bet you could roll up and down the South End and get us some _very_ wealthy drug daddies..."

Frost was a pretty, pretty man. And he'd have to be just as open to playing gay as playing ghetto if he wanted to stay with DCU. Cavanaugh told him as much the minute he brought him over from Robbery. To his credit, he batted his eyelashes seductively.

"Whatever it takes to gain your respect, Detective."

Jane fought the urge to bite her nails by popping a handful of sunflower seeds into her mouth. "Who said anything about respect? I just wanna see you in a pair of hotpants."

He laughed, and turned up the speed on the windshield wipers. Four more hours of surveillance and they could finally go home. But it was important to familiarize Frost with the less-exciting parts of these type of investigations.

"So, ah," Frost rapped his fingers again on the wheel. "You're not married. Got a boyfriend or something?"

"Nah," Jane shook her head, appearing to chew thoughtfully on the seeds. "You?"

"Nah," he repeated, as though the answer should have been obvious. "Guess I just figured you did 'cause you're always flying out of the office at weird times. Not answering your phone and whatever. Only narco cops I know who do that, are ones that got something going on at home."

Her new partner, it seemed, was smarter than Jane gave him credit for. Or at least, smarter than she'd hoped. She hated to do it, but she had to play Barry Frost like another one of her marks. Give him something to sink his teeth into, or else he'd go searching around till he got a bite. And Jane certainly couldn't afford a nosy young kid finding out about her extracurriculars with Paddy Doyle.

"A'right, maybe there's _something_... I trust you enough to keep a secret."

Play to his willingness to please and his desire for her acceptance.

"Oh you do now?"

"I do," Jane nodded. "But for real, it's not something I talk about the office. Understand?"

He nodded. "I'm a steel trap, _partner_."

Jane put on her best swagger, the kind that made men _and_ women putty in her hands. She spit the shells into a styrofoam cup with a well-practiced curl of her tongue.

"There's this doctor... we've been messing around."

Frost cocked his chin in her direction. "Nice. No slumming for you."

"Yup," she looked out the window nonchalantly. "She's got a body too."

Entice him, but don't say too much.

"_She_, huh?" Jane heard the surprise in his voice. "Thought those were just rumors."

Now Jane looked at him, smugly over her shoulder. "And here I thought I was so slick."

After a beat, he shifted in the driver's seat.

"Well, if you ever need anybody to cover for you, you know, let me know."

Sometimes Jane's ability to manipulate scared her a little bit. It was too perfect.

"Thanks."

"What are partners for if not to keep the PD from interfering with the BP?"

Jane squinted in the darkness. "Come again?"

Frost snorted dramatically. "_Now_ you need a brother to translate," he rolled his eyes. "BP. Bang piece."

Covering her face with her hands, Jane laughed, but inwardly felt guilty. She wondered how Maura would feel about being called her _bang piece_.

She knew, though, she shouldn't worry too much. It'd probably turn the doctor on.

"I think this partnership's gonna work out just fine, Barry Frost. Now keep your eyes on that exit door."

* * *

Old cardboard and stale peanuts. That's what the musty bar smelled like. Jane hated coming here, much preferred to meet in the warehouses or on the docks, but if tonight's business brought her here, she figured she may as well have a beer. Or two.

"Termite walks into a bar," the old man pouring her her third started up without prompting. "Says, where the bar tender?"

Jane waited for the punch line.

"That's it," he looked dimly at her. "That's the joke. Where's the bar... tender?"

She didn't smile. "You are a fucking laugh riot, O'Leary."

"Must be why they keep me around," he chuckled.

It definitely wasn't because he ran a tight ship. Jane was certain there was film on her beer mug from 1978. But she wasn't in a position to argue, surrounded by thugs, petty thieves, and worse. She always entered through the dry cleaner next door, a pass-through behind a curtain around the corner from the register. The faint smell of chemicals always wafted in behind her, but still couldn't compete with the ancient aroma of old world Irish organized crime. In a way, it was funny. No washing these stains out.

"You're Tommy Rizzoli's sister, ain't ya?" the man next to her grumbled lowly. "Little greaseballs from the North End, yeah?"

Jane flattened her expression. "Not so little anymore, are we?."

He bellowed a laugh. "Have we met?"

"I collared your ass for boosting cars."

He rubbed at his chin. "Never done no time for auto theft."

Jane smiled over her beer. "Amazing how that is, isn't it?"

They shared a laugh that Jane didn't feel, but it was good business. And keeping Doyle- and his men- happy meant Jane's brother was safe. She was well into her third beer by the time she felt the tap on her shoulder.

"He'll see you now."

Cathal was a one of the few young men Doyle trusted in his inner circle, around Jane's age with an eloquent manner about him. He was the refined side of an otherwise ruthless organization, and he and Jane had an unspoken respect for one another.

Jane followed him to the back of the bar, through a wooden door and into what everyone referred to as "The Restaurant." It was barely more than three or four tables, but they were arranged neatly and the foul smell didn't penetrate here. Cathal's college-educated invitation was the gateway into this more civilized space, where the grizzled henchmen rarely got to tread.

"Just a minute," Cathal pulled out a chair for her. "He's expecting someone so it'll only be a minute. I'm sure you're anxious to get home anyway."

She returned his smile and smoothed her hands over the ivory tablecloth. Behind her, Jane noticed another man, mid-40's with broad shoulders and nose like a hook. He was handsome in a rugged way, but definitely not local. He ordered a drink with an accent Jane guessed was Australian. She wondered if he was the person Doyle was expecting after her.

"Detective," Doyle's voice was soft and smooth behind her, almost melodic. He sat down across from her. "Thank you for meeting me on such short notice."

"No problem," Jane folded her hands in front of her. "What can I do for you?"

Normally, Jane's assignments were given to her by men second or third in command. To receive orders directly from Doyle himself meant it was something more than a protection detail, or other grunt work bound to get her punched, stabbed, or otherwise injured. Strange as it was, she was relieved and a little excited to be trusted with a task requiring a bit of finesse.

He pushed an envelope across the table.

"I need some information on these individuals," he glanced back at the man at the other table, who didn't seem to notice Jane, nor was he cowed by the presence of Patrick Doyle in the room. Clearly, Foreign Guy had no idea who he was supposed to be waiting for. "There are further instructions inside. You are to report back only to me."

"Okay..." Jane waited for more. "That all?"

Doyle smiled coyly at her. "Would you like more?"

"No," Jane began to sweat. "I just... usually..."

"I trust you, young lady. Don't make me regret it."

A door creaked open behind them, and flood lights from the alley filtered in, along with some fresh night air. Jane couldn't make out the figure entering with Cathal, but Doyle got up quickly at the sound.

"Be quick but thorough, Detective." He reached out his hand, and Jane shook it, trying not to look dumbfounded.

He'd thrown her off her game, that was for sure, so Jane might not have noticed who sat down alongside the strange man and Doyle at the next table if it weren't for Cathal, calling her back before she left the room.

"Can I send you home with anything? Something to eat?" He tilted his head, and Jane spied a look over his shoulder.

Patrick Doyle, the top dog in one of the oldest crime families in Boston, was pulling out a chair and kissing the cheek of a young woman. She was smiling at him and pressed a hand to his arm before shaking hands with the strange foreigner. The three of them sat down in the corner, looking thick as thieves.

Jane shook off Cathal's kind request before bolting out of the room. On the street, under the gauzy lamplight, Jane spat onto the asphalt.

Maura Isles looked very cozy at the table with her father.

***


	6. Chapter 6

Plucking at the vein in the crook of her elbow, Jane blew the shell of a sunflower seed out of the side of her mouth without looking to see where it fell. Her desk was already littered with wet little shards, the pages of paperwork beneath them covered in spit and in need of collation. It hardly mattered, because the bulk of her assignments these days were in an undercover capacity, and the fewer documents floating around with her name on it, the better. They were safe buried under the mountain of abandoned oral fixations.

People- many of them cops- love to claim that they know what it means to be an undercover operative in a long term investigation. Off a blurb they read on Wikipedia or saw in a movie. But the truth was, it was an art form that few could understand or appreciate. Guile and guts, Jane explained to Frost, in equal measure and at all times. She could feel him watching her like he always did, this time his chin resting on his knuckles on the desk across from her.

"Ah. Eww. You're not gonna do that, are you?"

Jane looked up at him for a split second. "Don't be such a pussy."

She swabbed her skin down with a premoistened alcohol pad and bit the cap off a 27 gauge needle, letting the orange top fall from her lips like so many discarded shells. The syringe was a little larger than a typical user's work, but it would have to do for now. She hadn't been to the pharmacy in weeks and wasn't in the mood to leave the darkened office to go now. It was bright and warm outside, and Jane felt anything but sunny on the inside.

"I'm not looking for tracks," she explained as she plunged the needle into her vein, wiggled it a little till the sting of pain made her hair stand on end, then retracted it. "I mean, that scarring is permanent and you'd have to stick forever to get 'em. You just want to look like you've used recently. Not a scummy addict. A classy gal who likes to party. Plus you can rub and sweat all night and you don't have to worry about anything coming off like with makeup."

Frost was leaning over, intrigued but obviously squeamish at the spot of blood. Jane tossed her head back to get her hair out of the way, then took aim with the needle once more.

"We're not even hitting the club till Friday. So why are you," he grimaced, "doing that to yourself now?"

Jane shook her head. "Establishing a timeline, Frost. A history. A bruise today looks different tomorrow. I'll pop the can on this vein and a few others a dozen times before Friday."

"But with legs like yours, who's looking at your arms?"

She put the needle down and shot him a look. "Guys facing federal time if they get busted by a UC, for one."

He nodded. "Your phone's blowing up again."

She followed his eyes to the blinking device on the corner of the desk. Jane had silenced it, then turned off the vibrating tone as well, the same 617 number trying her over and over all day.

"Jesus," she hissed. "You gotta be kidding me."

Frost looked relieved when Jane rolled her sleeve back down over the fresh needle marks.

"If you wanna-"

"No," she cut him off. "I don't want to talk about it. Just be ready for Friday, kid."

She snatched the phone off the desk and leapt to her feet, a trail of seeds following her out of the office and down the hall.

* * *

First thing in the morning, Maura padded barefoot into the backyard, her robe dewy and clinging in the humidity. The space was verdant and green, her sanctuary in the city, and she loved tending to the garden just along the corner of the fence, in the deepest part of the yard.

It was already so warm, the sun threatening at the edges of the trees. Maura could feel the beads of sweat forming along the curve of her spine and in the hollow between her breasts. She was careful to hold the top of her robe closed as she leaned down and found her marked plants. Tied with poultry bands and sewn carefully shut with a few squares of tape, Maura chose one male flower and plucked it, opened its petals and then held it in her teeth.

She needed both hands to open the female flower. As she leaned down again she felt her robe falling open but ignored it, until she heard a rustling sound behind her.

"You're playing a dangerous game."

Maura spun around to find Jane Rizzoli brushing a few errant leaves from her shoulder. Shocked, Maura's mouth fell open and her hands moved to cover her exposed front.

"Jane," she breathed. "You scared me."

"You need to stop calling me."

Her voice was cold and distant, her posture erect and alert. Tightly coiled, ready to strike.

"What's this about? Why don't you-"

"Stop. Calling me." Jane turned back towards the fence and Maura grabbed at her shirt.

"Wait."

Suddenly in such close proximity, Jane towered over her. Her eyes shimmered, something angry and oily beneath the surface. Even knowing what she did about Jane's involvement with Doyle, it was the first time Maura was ever afraid of the other woman.

The sun was breaking through, rays nearly blinding her. She moved to shield her face, to better see Jane, and she felt a hand on her wrist.

"Patrick Doyle," Jane leaned in, instantly coming into shaded focus. "Your _father_. You two have a nice dinner the other night?"

Maura felt her mouth go dry. Her lips tightened.

"That's not-"

"You told me he was using you the same way he was using me. It didn't look that way to me, Maura."

Pain started to radiate through the nerves in her forearm.

"Please, just let me go. Come inside and we'll talk about this."

"There's nothing to say," Jane growled.

"There's _everything_ to say, Jane," Maura's voice faltered, and tears she didn't want to give in to fought their way down her cheeks. "You've got it all wrong."

"Tell me then. Now."

Maura wiped at her eyes with her free hand, and laughed softly.

"Like this? I'm half-naked. Could you at least-"

Jane's eyes burned a trail down Maura's chest, to the deepening vee of her silk robe. She was brazen in her appraisal of Maura, her lips snarling as she reduced her to an object. Maura felt vulnerable, scared, and insanely aroused.

"Could you at least," Maura continued when she was able, "let go of my arm so I can cover myself?"

Jane dropped her hand abruptly. Maura hurriedly tightened her robe, pulling the edges of the collar close around her neck.

"Surely you're familiar with the phrase, 'You catch more flies with honey than vinegar'?"

That stare, that penetrating stare, moved up Maura's neck to her lips and then met her eyes. Jane's face was flushed red, and Maura fought the urge to pull her in for a kiss.

"The same honey you used to catch me?" Jane scoffed. "Take what you need and then-"

"He's using me. I'm using him right back."

Jane rolled her eyes. "By playing daughter for him? You looked right at home with him and whoever the hell you were dining with."

"I didn't even know you were there," Maura whispered, as if it were relevant.

In the alley behind the tall fence, a car rumbled by and slowed, and they both froze. Jane grabbed at Maura again, pushing them both across the yard and back into the house. When the french doors slammed shut, Jane hastily closed the blinds.

"I'm sure it was nothing," Maura began to explain. "The neighbors-"

"You listen to me," Jane climbed into Maura's personal space, her face so close Maura could smell the minty mouthwash Jane had used to try and cover the scent of scotch on her breath. "You do what you want to do with your father. But you leave me out of it. Forget we ever... did _this_."

The words stung Maura. She knew better; she knew they shouldn't. They hadn't shared much more than a few nights together, spread out across weeks. It was sexual. It was nothing more. The date had been a mistake; that was obvious now.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, so strong she was sure Jane could see it. Lips trembling, she tried to speak, but no sound came out.

"Just forget it, okay Maura?" Jane's tone was softer this time, her anger replaced by something much more heartbreaking; Jane was disappointed in her. "We should've never gotten involved."

Instinctively, Maura loosened the knot of her robe with one steady pull. The slippery silken fabric fell away, hanging limply over one shoulder but exposing all of her naked body to Jane's gaze.

"Don't you want to know why? Why I'm using Doyle? What I'm using him for?"

Her voice was low and seductive as she tried desperately to keep hold of Jane, if only for a little while longer. When the detective licked her lips and lowered her chin, Maura saw a small victory on the horizon.

"No," Jane whispered back. "I don't want to know. I don't want to know anything anymore. I just want this all to end." She stepped closer to Maura, cupping her breasts with her hands. "I'm so tired."

"I know," Maura purred, leaning into Jane's attentions. "So am I, Jane. I know you have to leave me, but..."

Jane ducked her head and started sucking hungrily at Maura's warm flesh.

"Can't I have you once more? To say good-bye?"

Moaning into her, Jane snaked her hands around Maura's hips and dug her fingernails into her ass.

"To say good-bye," Jane murmured. "Just once more."

Maura led them to the bedroom, where she drew all the blinds. She wasn't quite ready yet for the new day to dawn.

* * *

The pressure was deep, enormous and suffocating. Every breath she ventured was stolen, snatched out away like a diving buzzard, feasting on its prey. The lack of oxygen made things hazy then, but Maura could make out a few distinct images in the early dawn light. Jane's shoulders, her shirt torn from them and hanging wildly. Maura's own hands, pressing into the bend of Jane's elbows, seeking a way to steady herself against the onslaught.

And the arch of her own foot. Maura could see it over Jane's shoulder, her left foot, bobbing up and down, threatening to fall like a helium balloon running out of air. Jane was merciless with her, thinking she deserved it, thinking she'd betrayed her, when in reality it was nothing of the sort.

But Maura took it, knowing just enough about the detective to know that if she were upfront about her plan, Jane would dismiss it. Find a way to sabotage it. And with good reason; after all, there was no way to be sure it would work. Counting on Patrick Doyle to keep his word was, at best, a risky proposition. He was known to have his loyalties, his commitments that superseded all others.

Whether or not she, his biological daughter, was one of them, remained to be seen.

"Goddammit, Maura..." Jane's guttural cry tore through gritted teeth. "Goddammit."

Jane came in a flurry of grunts and moans, her fingers digging into the flesh at the nape of Maura's neck. As if in apology, she leaned back and kissed the woman beneath her on the mouth, open and wet and wanting, and then stumbled backwards towards the bedroom door.

***


	7. Chapter 7

Notes: M for Mature. Whoa, been a while on this one. As I said on Twitter, I've had some trouble deciding where I want to go with this story. I think I have it figured out though. It's probably not airtight at the moment, but we should be able to get there by the time it's finished. Just a reminder, it's an AU, and kind of a sequel to the super-short sex romp, Strange Bedfellows (which you can find at my LJ or on )… Thanks guys!

ALSO: posting this before I run off to a second job so… err… I didn't edit it. Like, at all. MY BAD.

* * *

Jane could hear the sergeant whistling all the way down the hall, and she waited as the sound drew closer. She shoved the packet of papers she'd been working on into the bottom drawer of her desk and made sure whatever was left in front of her was innocuous enough. The last thing she needed to do was arouse the suspicions of her superior. She'd already said too much to Frost.

"Rizzoli," Sergeant Cavanaugh smiled. "Good to see you here so early."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave him a little smirk. "What's got you so happy-go-lucky?"

"Teletype's gonna be released this afternoon. Finally making lieutenant," he shoved his hands into his pockets, the sound of jingling coins erupting. "And that's not all."

Jane leaned back in her chair. "Do tell."

"Heading to Homicide once it's official. You play your cards right tonight, give me this son of a bitch on a platter, and I might just take you with me."

Her heart squeezed, but Jane knew she wasn't ready. Not with Paddy Doyle breathing down her neck every five minutes. Jane would do a lot of things, but she'd never jeopardize a murder investigation. She had to get out from under Doyle's thumb before Homicide was even on the table.

"That's nice of you, Boss, but I gotta get there on my own merits. Tough enough trying to be a skirt up there."

He rolled his eyes. "I've never seen you in a skirt, Rizzoli."

"You know what I mean," she growled. "So everything's set. CI says he'll walk me right into the VIP section where Alfredson and his guy will be at. We already know Tino likes what he's seen. Should be easy enough."

Cavanaugh shook his head wistfully. "I know you hate hearing this, Rizzoli, but you are a rare breed. Of course they never see you coming- we might get a looker like you on the police department, sure, but with your looks _and_ your balls? Once in twenty-five years. It's a real weapon."

"I'm glad to know my ass and my balls are an asset to the department, Sarge."

"That's lieutenant!" he chirped.

"Not till Monday," Jane shrugged. "And hey…"

He turned around, his tie following like a windsock.

"Frost's ready... you know, for what it's worth. Why not let him inside this time? Post him up at the bar or something. We don't have to show together but..."

Cavanaugh smiled broadly. "Beauty, brains, balls, _and_ a team player. You're a fuckin' saint, Rizzoli."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "If you say so."

* * *

Normally Jane would've said no. She should've said no. But when O'Leary poured her a scotch, Jane took it without a word, ignoring the old man's knowing grin. She was waiting on Doyle, and with a massive operation for the narcotics unit tonight, the last thing she needed was alcohol on her breath. The liquor burned, tasted like it'd been watered down with acetone. But damn if it didn't work wonders on her nerves.

The stale, sweaty stench of the bar was just starting to seep into her pores when Cathal appeared from the back room, a thin, unwavering finger in the air to summon her. She finished the drink and tossed a few bills on the sticky wood, extricating herself from the bar stool as gracefully as possible.

"Little early in the afternoon, don't you think?"

Cathal teased her lightly, his lips sneaking upwards at the corners.

"This depressing hole. Drives everybody to drink, doesn't it?"

His head bobbed back and forth. "You've got a point there. Come on back."

He escorted her into The Restaurant and motioned to the same seat she'd taken just days earlier. Jane eyed the table furthest away, hidden in a cloak of shadows. It was where she'd spotted Maura, smiling at Patrick Doyle and acting every bit the dutiful daughter. Jane sucked her teeth in disgust.

"Shall I bring you another?"

Cathal must have noticed her aggravation.

"Why the hell not?"

There were plenty reasons why not, but Jane wasn't in the mood to entertain them. She had what Doyle asked for, and she was reasonably sure he'd be pleased. Still, Jane couldn't shake the temptation to wallow in self-pity. Here she was, finally on the precipice of making Homicide, and she'd have to turn it down. Outwardly she was successful, hard-charging and heading up. On _both_ sides of the law. But she hadn't a single chance to enjoy it. She left the only person she could share it with naked in bed and never looked back.

The scotch arrived neat, and Jane ran her finger around the rim of the glass before sipping from it heartily. She felt her heart pounding in her chest at the mere thought of Maura Isles, and hoped the liquor would chase the feeling away.

"Good afternoon, Detective."

Patrick Doyle's voice still boomed even in a whisper. Jane turned to greet him, and he stopped her as she got halfway up from her chair.

"Please."

He murmured something to Cathal, who scurried away, and accepted the packet Jane pushed across the table.

"I take it this is the information I asked for?"

She checked her chin once. "All three subjects. Briggs and Whitmore, minor violations here and there. Nothing troubling or even noteworthy. The other one-"

"Faulkner?" Doyle raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, him," Jane's eyes went unconsciously to the table in the corner. "Clean here and abroad. No wants, no warrants, no red notices. A Brit, huh? You hosting some kind of foreign delegation I should know about?"

"That's none of your concern, Detective."

Jane smiled limply, devoid of all amusement. She slugged back the rest of the drink and watched as Doyle examined her, his face changing almost imperceptibly.

"Why has my daughter suddenly taken an interest in you?"

It felt like a swift punch to the gut, but Jane absorbed it without so much as a flare of her nostrils.

"Who?"

Doyle didn't flinch either. "Don't bother. She told me you know."

Jane drew in her cheeks. Considered the man.

"She's a brilliant doctor. Put me back together on more than one occasion."

"And you two have, what? A camaraderie because you're both..."

"Enslaved?" Jane went on the offensive. It was the only way to even the playing field. She had no idea where Doyle was headed with this.

"I was going to say _reluctant_."

"That depends on your perspective, but okay."

Paddy folded his hands in front of him. "She's put a lot on the line for you. I admit, I admire her selflessness."

"But what would you or I know about selflessness?" Jane hissed. "I'm no saint."

"And neither am I, Detective. So it's ironic that we both stand to gain so much from my daughter's sacrifice, while doing so little to deserve it."

Jane's stomach churned. She wanted to overturn the table and run straightaway to find Maura. To find out what she'd done. What deal with the devil she had made.

"Now that I know Faulkner doesn't pose an unnecessary risk, we can move forward," Doyle moved to stand. "If all goes as planned, this will be the last time we'll see each other."

He extended his hand, and Jane eyed it for a moment. She was suspicious, but took it anyway. Like a practical joke, she waited to be zapped, right there on the spot. But instead Doyle turned and walked away, and Jane hurried out before he had a chance to take back his final goodbye.

* * *

Her office at the hospital was grand. Sweeping. Intimidating, even. The view afforded by the ten-foot windows was spectacular, the Charles River winding in the foreground. Maura stared out those gigantic windows, alternating her focus from the scenery beyond to her own reflection much closer in, and spun the ring on her finger nervously.

Jane was on her way up from the lobby. She hadn't bothered with pretense like she did at the clinic. This time she bullied Maura's secretary, using her official position as a police detective to demand a meeting. For her to have used her real name, Maura knew it must be serious. It scared her.

Maura didn't turn when the secretary let Jane inside. Instead she simply nodded, accepting the visitor as nonchalantly as possible. When the door behind her closed, Maura licked at suddenly dry lips.

"Can I help you, Detective?"

Jane said nothing, but moved purposefully towards her, striding across the room with what felt like a single bound. She grabbed the arms of Maura's chair and spun them toward her. Unsure of Jane's intentions and feeling cornered, Maura stood up but quickly realized she had nowhere to go. The detective's body was pressed angrily against hers, the silk of Maura's shirt puckering instantly as her nipples hardened from the contact.

"What are you-"

Jane's mouth overtook her own, the pressure immediate and unrelenting. Hands flew to the sides of Maura's face; Jane was driving their mouths even closer together, and Maura had no choice but to give way to her insistent tongue.

"Jane..." Maura was breathless.

Finally, Jane withdrew with a wet snap, hands still clasped over Maura's cheek and jaw.

"What've you done?"

Maura shook her head.

"What've you done?!" Jane repeated more forcefully. "Goddamn it, answer me."

She knew, Maura realized. She knew despite ignoring her when she'd tried to tell Jane herself. And there was only one other person who could've told her.

"Doyle wants to retire. Get out of the business for good."

Jane's shoulders relaxed slightly, and she loosened her grip.

"There's been rumors, sure."

Maura nodded slowly. "I'm helping him do that."

"How?"

It was hard to focus with Jane so close, heat rolling off her body, attacking Maura in waves. She was so powerless in her stare.

"A contact. A man I know."

Jane's hands went slack, and she stepped back. "Ian Faulkner."

Maura was surprised to hear his name from Jane's mouth.

"Yes. The man you saw me with that night. With Doyle and I."

"Who is he?" There was a note of anger in Jane's voice. It shouldn't have, but it made Maura swell with pride. Pride and lust.

"We met in a medical program abroad... It's not important."

"And now?"

"And now," Maura sighed, stepping back even further but missing the contact. "He's created a network, over the years. His dealings... they're why I left him in the first place."

"Dealings?" Jane's jaw was clenched firmly. Maura reached out to touch the bundle of muscle there, but the detective flinched away. "Answer the question, Maura."

"Unchecked import-export licenses that he uses as carte blanche," the words rushed out, but even Maura knew how vague they sounded. "I don't know, Jane! The last thing I wanted to was to _know_."

Jane's brow furrowed. It made her look different somehow. Younger. Innocent. It was hard to imagine a hardened detective as vulnerable, but as Jane pieced things together that's exactly how she looked. Maura waited, her hands trembling.

"That's why he farmed out checks on Faulkner to me," she spoke, seemingly to herself. "He doesn't want his people to know his play before he makes it."

Maura sighed, relieved that Jane appeared to be drawing the same conclusions. "Ian is essentially buying Paddy out. Assuming all the legacy costs."

"To keep Doyle's men off the unemployment line and quiet?"

She nodded. Wanted desperately to feel Jane's lips on hers again.

"Don't suppose I'll see any of that money?" Jane quipped, shrugging defeatedly.

"You get something else instead."

Jane lowered her eyes and closed the distance between them again, sweeping Maura's hair away from her face.

"You?"

Maura's skin flushed, but she maintained her composure.

"Your freedom."

There it was again. That flash of vulnerability. It was accompanied this time with the faintest note of sadness.

"You brought Faulkner to Doyle. He trusts you. What have you done to gain that trust?"

"We had a history."

"What have you done _lately_ to earn that trust?"

Maura swallowed the lump in her throat. Jane didn't look angry, but resigned.

"It's just sex, Jane. He doesn't mean anything to me."

They stood there in silence, absorbing the true nature of Maura's bargain for Jane's freedom from Doyle. Jane crept closer, her hands walking up Maura's body to find her face again, this time exploring every line and curve with tentative fingertips. The sun streaming in unfettered warmed her skin and made Jane's silhouette glow ethereally.

"You're trading one master for another."

"For you."

"For how long?"

Maura's voice broke. "I don't know. Until I find a way out."

"I don't want you to do this. I don't want-"

"It's done, Jane."

She hadn't meant to, but the moment weighed so heavily on Maura that she started to cry. It wasn't something she ordinarily did in front of other people, but Jane had such a disarming way about her, even when it was inconvenient and awkward to relent to it.

Jane's left hand slipped downward, to the hem of Maura's skirt along her thigh. Bent fingers hitched the fabric up, and Maura shuddered.

"I hate you for doing this, you know," Jane whispered. "I told you those things in confidence. What I wanted for my family. For myself. I never meant for you to..."

"When he touches me, I close my eyes and imagine it's you." As she said it, she really did close her eyes, and when she opened them again she found Jane's mouth inches from her own. "Take care of your family. Take care of yourself. Be the hero you were born to be."

Fingertips grazed the inside of her thigh, then against wet panties. She ached for Jane's touch the moment she heard her name.

"What if I want to be _your_ hero?"

The deep, desirous timbre of her voice made Maura moan, breathing the soft hiss of want right into Jane's mouth.

"Then find a way. In the meantime…"

The detective lowered her shoulder and slid a finger up and inside.

"Oh god…"

"I'm going to kill him."

She pumped a little, then pulled out, swirling Maura's own wetness over her clit.

"Oh my god, Jane…" Maura held onto Jane's shoulders, lifting onto her toes, trying to give Jane better access. Her skirt was a rumpled mess, now shoved over her ass.

"I'm going to kill him."

"You're too honorable for that," Maura panted.

Jane withdrew her hand and clenched her teeth again. This time she let Maura touch her, let her kiss her neck and her jaw.

"Am I?" she whispered.

Maura fell back into her chair and spread her legs. Jane dropped to her knees, tugging Maura's underwear down and off before throwing one ankle over her shoulder. Maura watched as the Charles snaked by, and her high heel fell to the floor, before losing herself to the detective's skillful tongue.

She grabbed a fistful of Jane's hair, long and dark and soft as it wound around her fingers.

"I love you, Jane."


	8. Chapter 8

Music rattled against Jane's chest with an almost painful ferocity, her natural anxiety combined with the nightclub's sensory overload causing her heart to whine like a wide-open throttle. She used to wonder if her hard-pounding pulse would be audible on the recording device she wore stuffed under the strap of her bra near her armpit. Not anymore, though. Jane had done this enough times to stop thinking about the equipment, no bigger than a Tic Tac box, at all. If it weren't for the audio pick-up wire snaked awkwardly around her nipple, she could probably wear the thing morning, noon, and night and never pay it any mind.

She always wore the Tic Tac on her left side. That left her right side, up underneath where her upper arm could shield it, for the tiny .22. No, it wasn't Department-approved, and yes, she'd probably get caught up in years of disciplinary hearings for ever using it while on duty, but after one attempt at hiding even the most compact Glock BPD issued, Jane decided that eons of bureaucracy suited her a lot better than getting caught wearing a cop's gun by a target.

The crossdraw wasn't ideal, but Jane could make it work. And luckily for her, Alfredson was so into legs and ass that he didn't mind the billowy fabric that draped down her shoulders. Her skirt was so short it barely qualified as underwear; he took what she gave and never asked any questions.

Where the imitation silk fabric cut, a design element Jane would never understand but was infinitely thankful for, it revealed the inside of her arms. Two slits, the stupid-looking brainchild of some Italian designer that Rainbow and Mandee's no doubt shamelessly copied, giving anybody who ventured a look at Jane's sad, angry needle marks. The tops of her breasts were visible, but not showcased tremendously.

Like the intel report said, Alfredson was purely an ass man.

And that was part of the job. Knowing your target better than they knew themselves. Knowing their tells and their secrets and their pet peeves. It gave you the tiniest of openings where you could slide in, practically unnoticed, and observe without anyone ever wondering why you were there.

Jane was there tonight, escorted in by a confidential informant, to get close enough to Alfredson to follow the deal they knew was about to go down. He knew Jane as J.J., a bombshell party girl wannabe model with a dope habit who was teetering on the precipice of control. That's what Alfredson liked to surround himself with on club nights: hot women who needed him _bad_.

And luckily for BPD, Alfredson liked to do his dirt in public. He didn't have a ton of muscle on his side, and he needed the security of a wide open environment to keep from getting jacked or worse. That might change in the very near future, if the impending deal was as large as suspected, so they had to get him now before he went underground. Nabbing the heavy he was dealing with tonight, well, that'd just be icing on the cake.

"Hey mama," the skinny CI with the frosted blonde tips squeezed her ass, "you wanna get us some drank?"

Jane turned to him amidst the thumping bass. "You wanna get some broke-ass fingers?"

He held up his hands. His job was more or less done. They'd made contact with some of Alfredson's hangers-on, and J.J. could stroll into his VIP section at her leisure. But she needed to make sure everyone was set first, and dropping Eminem Jr. was her first order of business.

"Beat it. Stay in the club, but stay out of my circle. Chin-check me if something's really wrong."

The chin-check was the CI's move. He had this disgusting scrabble of facial hair on his chin, and if he found her across the room and tugged or rubbed on it, it meant shit was about to go pear-shaped. Having him out here was as good if not better than having plainclothes officers in the club. Unlike most of the cops- who were often too preoccupied with blending in to really notice anything helpful- the CI was noodles in soup.

One guy that didn't seem to have any trouble blending in was Barry Frost. Dude was as smooth as butter, and Jane liked to think she had something to do with that. He sat at the bar closest to the VIP section, his obnoxious muscles on display, drawing in every female with a pulse in a ten mile radius. And that was all the camouflage he needed.

Only the guys in the truck could hear her live, but the recording would be kept forever, replayed in court and preserved for posterity thereafter. She'd been warned against it, but every op Jane had to get a dig in somewhere.

"The new kid is a skank magnet," she muttered. "When this is all over, first round of antibiotics is on me."

She moved through the crowd effortlessly, blocking out the sudden flashes of bright light and the droning sound as best she could. Eventually, her heartbeat fell in line with the music anyway.

Bang. Bang. Bang. . Bang. Bang. Bang. .

It actually helped her keep rhythm.

As she wound her way across the dance floor towards Alfredson's section, she pushed down all the sensations her rushing blood brought to her. That was the hardest part, not the anxiety, but the very physical response Jane always experienced. The increased blood flow, the adrenaline boost, the music that made bodies swirl and writhe around her.

Jane secretly wished she was out of the stupid skirt and in a pair of jeans and her nice leather jacket. Her piece- her _other_ piece- nestled between her legs, she'd find a woman to grind up against and release some of this awful, ill-timed sexual arousal. She'd finish the buzz she caught this afternoon. Maybe get wasted. After all, Maura had told Jane that she loved her today.

Right after she told her she was fucking some guy, too.

Jane wasn't sure what to feel about all that, but she couldn't feel it now. She took a deep breath and proceeded to the VIP area, smiling and winking and licking her lips.

"Look who it is."

Tino Alfredson sat slouched in the cushions of a red velvet couch, his legs spread open and Timberland boots thumping in time to the beat.

"Hey Tino," Jane waved with only her fingers. "Heard we're partying tonight."

She shimmied her hips and he brushed some of his men aside to watch. Jane took the move as an invitation, and stepped boldly between his legs. She handed him her drink- a classic move Jane would patent if she could. With a drink in both hands, there wouldn't be any surprises. Tino couldn't grope her or accidentally stumble upon the wire and make her if both his hands were occupied. Jane didn't even hide her smug, delighted expression.

"Maybe, mama. Maybe. Whatchu doing out there?"

He cocked his head towards the dance floor.

"Oh," Jane stammered intentionally. "You know Slim Shady always trying to get in my pants. He hooked me up but..." she looked down, to the side, pretty much everywhere but at Tino's face. "I could kinda use something to get out of the hole, you know? Get me in a partyin' mood?"

"You need to slow down, girl," he sat up straight, and Jane fidgeted. "H to go down, coke to go up... this ain't no welfare program."

She needed to keep close to him, but she couldn't just pull out a wad of twenties and square the debt. It'd look worse than not paying him. So Jane considered for a moment what J.J. would do in this scenario.

Without hesitation she pulled one leg up and rested her foot on Tino's thigh. Her cheap heels were scuffed and worn, as pathetic looking as the marks on her arms. The man's eyes went straight to Jane's crotch, where her black panties would cover enough to let Jane keep her dignity, but show enough to keep J.J. in the company of one Tino Alfredson.

"Just a bump, c'mon. Then I'll come chill with you all night, we'll do some dancing..."

She didn't need the drugs to get Tino. They had enough on him and his crew from their months of working them. But it's like she was always telling Frost. You play the part until the curtains close. Reel the line in too quick, and you'd lose the fish for good.

He seemed to be deliberating her request when she felt a presence approach behind her. Tino looked past her, and she turned around.

What she saw made her heart stop cold, the rhythm of the entire night broken. She recognized their faces, both white men, mid-thirties.

Kenneth Briggs and James Whitmore. Two of the men Patrick Doyle had her look into.

Ian Faulkner's men.

"Mr. Alfredson?" one of them asked.

Tino stood up and pushed her aside, his face suddenly serious.

"Go on," he pushed her again, not forcefully, but just the way men like him bodied up women like J.J. She moved to the rail nearby, close enough to overhear what they discussed.

"Yeah," he extended his hand, his nervousness readily apparent. "You the gentlemen I spoke to earlier?"

Briggs nodded, and Jane felt the panic rising in her gut.

"Well where is he then? The man, I mean?"

Jane's knees went weak, and she stumbled away into the swaying crowd below. It wouldn't look odd, a junkie disappearing in search of the next high. But if Briggs and Whitmore were here, that meant Faulkner might not be far behind. And while her mind couldn't make all the necessary connections in that split second, her primitive brain- the one wired for survival- told her she had to find him before this blockbuster deal went down.

She grabbed an abandoned drink from a table in the corner and spun the straw. Vodka tonic, from the smell of it. She held onto the drink with sweaty palms as she navigated the swell of people, catching glimpses of umpteen unfamiliar faces in the strobe lights.

Frost wasn't too far away, but he was screened from her line of sight by a tall brunette with fake tits. The other officers were posted up closer to the VIP area, so deeper in the cavernous club she'd be anonymous. Her whole body began to perspire, and her hands shook violently any time she relaxed her grip on the cold glass. A song she'd heard on the radio a thousand times began to play, the speed cranked up to encourage wild gyrations from the crowd.

Jane wandered the floor until her eyes locked onto a woman's back, her tight, unyielding black dress cut away to reveal the smooth skin of her shoulders. Peppered there beneath tendrils of light hair were freckles. Tiny freckles Jane recognized.

With a smooth yank, Jane poured the ice cold liquid down her chest. She felt the electronic unit strapped to her chest short out, the pinch against her breast confirming it had been rendered useless. With communications out, she'd only have a few minutes to do whatever it was she was about to do.

She spun the woman around hard, and they nearly crashed into each other in the limited space.

"Jesus!" Maura exclaimed, her face contorted into anger, then shock. "Jane!"

"Shhh," she growled, even though it was unnecessary. No one could hear them, not even if they were two feet away. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Maura looked around wildly. "I could ask you the same thing!"

"I'm _working_," she hissed. "What're you doing here? Where is he?"

"Who?" Maura took in Jane's appearance. Her trashy clothing. Her sweaty brow. "What is this?"

Maura tugged at her arm but Jane pulled it away hastily, not bothering to explain.

"Where is Ian, Maura? Is he here?"

The colored lights gave Maura a surreal, angelic glow. Her hair was swept back, and long, sparkling jewels dangled from her ears.

"Yes," she lowered her voice now, and Jane had to lean in to be sure. "What is this all about, Jane? Are you in trouble?"

Exasperated, Jane threw her arms at her sides. "We all are, Maura, if you don't get the fuck out of here. And take Ian Faulkner with you."

"I can't just leave. Jane, he expects me at his side. I didn't want to come here. But you know I can't just-"

"I know, I know," she shook her head, and her whole body swayed from the effort. "Faulkner wanted you. As insurance. But why?"

Maura shrugged her shoulders. "Isn't it obvious? Patrick Doyle could be captured at any time, his retirement meaningless. Ian would only agree to the deal if it included me. To protect against Doyle selling him over down the road."

"Selling him _out_, you mean. Jesus." Even in the heat of the moment Maura's innocence- if you could call it that- made Jane swoon. "Well I just got an earful of something I shouldn't have. Faulkner's about to make a deal with a mid-level drug thug we've been working for months. If he goes through with_whatever_ the hell he's planning..."

"_Oh_," Maura connected the dots. "Oh my god."

Jane nodded. "Yeah. So, we're kinda fucked if you don't get him out of here _now_."

"How will I... I can't just make him leave. Especially if this is some kind of," she whispered dramatically, "_drug deal_."

"There's gotta be something you can-"

The tall, broad-shouldered Ian Faulkner was hard to miss, if you knew what you were looking for. Luckily, Alfredson didn't, but Jane did. He strode over to them, his smile as wide as the chasm Jane Rizzoli wanted to throw him into.

"Don't I know you?"

He eyed Jane neutrally. She stammered.

"No. No I don't think so. See, I just spilled my drink, and your friend here..."

"Do you know this woman?" He turned to Maura. "You two looked rather involved just then."

"No," Jane replied firmly for the both of them. Maura stood frozen, her earrings the only things moving between them. "I'll be going."

"Maura?" Ian held her arm, the look in his eyes somewhat menacing.

"No. I..." the doctor's skin began to flush, color rapidly appearing across her chest and arms and cheeks. "No, I don't know her, Ian. She just... I hit her with my elbow... and I spilled her drink."

Jane slid away, movement in the corner of the room distracting her. The other plainclothes officers were on the move, looking for Jane. She spied Frost still near the bar, probably getting an earful on the radio from Cavanaugh in the truck, wanting to know why the wire was silent. There was no time left.

Just as Jane hurried to the bar, pushing past the scantily clad women to stand next to Frost, she scanned the back of the club where she'd left Maura and Ian. The crowd parted long enough for Jane to see Maura crumple to the ground.

* * *

Back in street clothes, Jane slouched dejectedly on the ratty couch in the drug unit's office. Across from her, Barry Frost sat, still in his ridiculous muscle tee, his jaw clenched in what Jane could only imagine was fear.

The door ripped open and then slammed shut, and Sergeant Cavanaugh roared in simultaneously.

"What the fuck happened in there, Rizzoli?"

"Sir..."

"Don't _sir_ me, Rizzoli. What. The fuck?"

"My wire shorted out. Some bitch danced right into me and I just..." she looked down at her chest. "Damn near burned my nipple off, not that you care."

"I don't right now, alright? I don't give a fuck about anything except, oh I don't know, the months-long op we just shat all over in a matter of minutes."

Frost made the unenviable mistake of shifting in his seat just then.

"And you," Cavanaugh turned to him. "I make you lead eyes in there and this is what happens? The fuck was I thinking trusting you?"

"I saw Detective Rizzoli make contact with the target. Then when the sound cut out, I lost her. But only for a minute or two."

"And Tino? What of his sudden change of heart? We had guys in there for an hour after you two extracted. And no deal. He get wind of you, Pretty Woman?"

Jane shook her head. "No. No. _Shit no_. I don't know what happened. Maybe his connect didn't show."

Maybe. Or, definitely. Whatever Maura did to get Faulkner out of there, it worked, because Jane wasn't currently in handcuffs with IAD breathing down her neck.

"Who were those men? On the wire before it went out. I heard two voices."

Jane hedged, but Frost jumped in.

"I got a good look at 'em. Me and Jane'll ID them," he looked guiltily towards her. "Even if it takes all night."

"Even if it takes for-fucking-ever," Cavanaugh fumed. "I don't even want to look at either of you right now. Just... get out of my office. Get out and don't come back until you have something for me."

They scurried out, practically knocking each other over to get through the door. In the hallway, Jane finally exhaled.

"I'm sorry."

Frost leaned against the cinder block wall. "Shit happens."

"He's just pissed because this is gonna hold up his promotion. His transfer to Homicide. We'll get 'em."

Jane tried to sound as eager and gung-ho as would normally be appropriate in this situation. Frost seemed to buy it.

"I know. But what happened in there? I mean... really?"

She sighed, and ran a hand through hair that had seen better days. A gallon of Aqua-Net and ten gallons of sweat made it feel like half-dry cement.

"I got nervous when those two guys showed up. You saw Tino shove me out of the way."

"Yeah, but you could've stayed in the game. He didn't even notice you once he got to talking to those dudes."

"Maybe," Jane's voice shook. For all the wrong reasons, but it sounded so right. "It's gonna be a needle in haystack, just from memory, but we'll find out who they were and piece it from there. The important thing is that the deal didn't go down."

"Word on the street it was a million-plus transaction. Where you think Little Balls Tino got that kind of scratch?"

"I dunno," Jane shrugged. That much was true. There was no way Tino Alfredson acting on his own could put together that much money. And then there was the other nagging question. Was Ian Faulkner importing heroin? It didn't smell right. Especially not as far as Doyle was concerned.

"Good news, though," Frost interrupted her train of thought. "We won't have to try to pin these guys just from our tired ass brains."

"How's that?" Jane squinted under the nauseating fluorescent lights.

"Club's got security cams, Jane." He said it like she should've known. In fact, she should have. "I'm sure we'll get them on film coming in or out. I can work my magic with facial recognition software, and if they've been nabbed before..."

Jane forced a smile.

"Perfect, Frost. That's fucking perfect."


	9. Chapter 9

Cracks of thunder in the distance rattled the car, idling in the farthest corner of the rapidly darkening parking lot. Jane leaned over the steering wheel, her eyes scraping the end of their reach, aching as she searched the sky. A storm was coming their way, but Jane would wait until the last possible moment before rolling up the window at her side. The clouds had turned the air unseasonably cool, ripe with that unmistakable scent that would forever conjure up memories of baseball games and long summer nights and wet, slippery pavement.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, relishing in it.

When the car door thumped open, her eyelids followed. She wasn't alarmed; Jane had seen Maura's car pull in several minutes ago and circle a few times, just as she'd instructed.

"Whew," Maura breathed heavily as she flopped into the passenger seat and closed the door behind her, pulling in the hem of her light trench coat before it got pinched in the oily jamb. "Just beat the storm."

Jane said nothing, but rolled up the window and then turned the car off. In the distance, shoppers hurried into the discount store as another rip of thunder sounded.

"It's been days, Jane. I was starting to worry I wouldn't hear from you."

"I was tied up at work. This shit over the weekend... it's not going away."

She turned to face Maura, whose hair was lustrous and smooth despite the humidity. She reached out and flipped a ring of it aside, watching as it tickled Maura's chin, eliciting an involuntary smile from the doctor.

"We're seriously fucked."

"How do you mean? And start from the beginning."

Jane ran a hand through her own hair, frizzy and unruly as it was. "The club had security cams on all entry and exit points. My partner and I found Faulkner's men, plain as day, coming into the club. Got a perfect screengrab."

"You aided in this... discovery?"

She groaned. "_Reluctantly_, but yeah. What was I going to do? Sabotaging the bust was bad enough."

Accepting Jane's reply with a solemn nod, Maura's hands came to rest on her bare knees, the cream colored skirt riding up as she fidgeted in the seat. "And does BPD know who they are?"

Jane tossed her phone onto the dash. "Frost's running them now. I expect I'll get a call before long. They're in the system. They'll turn up. Just our luck Frost's an ace at this."

"And Ian?"

Jane tried not to display any reaction to the sound of concern in Maura's voice.

"He's not on our radar... yet. Thank god. Whatever you did to get him out of there, it worked. On the cams it just looked like a boyfriend carrying out his wasted drunk girlfriend. We had a laugh about it, actually."

Maura's face reddened. "How awful."

"Awful? Try a stroke of genius. What'd you do?"

"Nothing," her voice climbed an octave. "You got me so flustered, and then Ian asked if we knew each other... when you disappeared, I couldn't. I can't lie."

Jane's neck whipped around. "So you told him?!"

"No! I _passed out_."

"You passed out? From lying? You ran game on _Paddy Doyle_. You can lie."

"It's different," she dropped her chin. "With you so close... I was afraid. I was afraid I'd put you at risk."

Jane smiled slightly. Wistfully. She looked past the other woman and through the passenger window, as rain began to speckle the lot.

"I know you what you mean. It's one thing when it's just you."

For a while nothing but the sound of pattering rain came between them. The air in the car began to warm, but Jane ignored it. Her heart was racing, and it was beginning to really agitate her that she could not control herself around Maura Isles. She reached under the seat and pulled out a silver flask.

"Should you be drinking?" Maura asked, surprisingly devoid of judgement.

Jane swallowed the burning whiskey and winced. "Probably not."

"What's next?" Maura let Jane's poor decision go without further mention.

"When Frost ID's Briggs and Whitmore- _and he will_- we have to assume it'll somehow lead back to Faulkner. At the very least, the drug unit is gonna be turning over every rock to find them. It'd help if we knew what the hell he was planning with Alfredson."

She looked pointedly at Maura, who'd slid out of her trench coat, revealing a poppy blue blouse with glass buttons. If Jane looked closely enough, she was sure she could see her own reflection in them.

Finally understanding Jane's lengthy stare, Maura made sharp sound.

"Surely you're kidding. He doesn't disclose those sorts of things to me. Nor would he, if I had the audacity to ask."

"What's the deal with him, anyway?" Jane had to ask, even though she was loathe to hear the answer. "He needs a trophy wife and insurance against Doyle. But you were friends back in the day-"

"We were lovers."

Jane scowled. "Thanks for that. Anyway."

Maura stuttered briefly, searching the rain-blurred windows for an answer.

"I already told you. Doyle needed an out for retirement, and I provided a buyer, in exchange for the end of your servitude. I have to stay at Ian's side until he's satisfied that Doyle won't double-cross him."

"But what does Faulkner want with Doyle's turf? And what does a two-bit hack like Alfredson bring to the table?"

Jane took another swig, ending her audible musing.

"Stop that."

There was the doctorly warning. Jane was vaguely aware she might've been doing it on purpose, subconsciously desiring Maura's attentive concern.

She put the cap on the flask and tossed it into the backseat. "Better?"

Maura frowned, but there was a playful glimmer in her eye. "From the sound of things? No. If Ian senses pressure from law enforcement, he's going to give up everything he has on Doyle. He's not stupid."

"Is it brains," Jane moved in her seat, the air in the car beginning to stifle, "or cowardice?"

"I'm not one to judge," Maura swept her hair behind her ears. "I made a horse trade for your freedom, and it could end with both of us incarcerated. Courageous stupidity is no virtue."

"Hey," Jane pushed back against the steering wheel, creating as much space as she could. Then she pulled Maura's hand into her lap. "We were both pulled into this dangerous game against our will. Long before we met. This is just a setback."

Maura folded her fingers against Jane's, her neatly trimmed but manicured nails scratching lightly at her skin.

"I could try to find out more," she sighed. "I could... He's not invulnerable to manipulation."

When Maura looked away, Jane's heart began to pound. Maura was not talking about blackmail or a stern talking-to.

"I don't even wanna know what kind of freaky shit he wants from you. Don't you dare."

Off Maura's unresponsiveness, Jane continued.

"It should be me. You should be at _my_ side."

"I told you," Maura whispered, still facing the window, "it's just sex."

The rain drove even harder, blowing like Jane's mood, from bad to worse. It got so loud for several minutes that neither of them said anything. If she shouted, this would feel like yet another fight in their short history together. The silence spoke volumes anyway.

"You said you loved me."

Jane struggled with the words, and Maura struggled to hear them. Her reply was even softer.

"I meant it. We have a connection I cannot deny."

"And?"

"And?" Maura held out her hands, exasperated. "It's not a proclamation I make lightly. I wish things were different, but they're not. You may not be used to wanting something you can't have, but I am. I'm very well-versed in disappointment."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Says the rich doctor who lured me into her bed by grabbing at my cock like some kind of-"

Maura's bubble of laughter did little to crack the tension.

"Your _cock_," she chuckled. Even with derision, when Maura said it, it made Jane throb. "You mean the_amulet of power_ you wear when you have to _fake_ things? When you want it not to be _real_? You needed it to do Doyle's dirty work- and don't think I don't know that included fucking _me_."

Unable to control herself, Jane feared what she might do. Instead of grabbing Maura or pushing her own hand through the windshield, Jane flung open the door and leapt out into the rain. She slammed the door shut and stood there, letting the downpour wash over her.

She breathed deeply, rain spouting from her lips. Grabbing at her cold, wet hair, she pulled hard, bending at the knees a few times to keep from screaming. She didn't hear Maura open the passenger door and join her beside the car.

"I'm sorry," Maura pressed against her, her clothes rapidly soaking. "Jane, I'm sorry."

Steam rose up around them as the cool rain hit the warm asphalt. It felt surreal, like the last few months of Jane's life. Surreal and intense, as Maura's lips sucked eagerly at her skin.

"Please..." she whispered just below the sound of the drumming precipitation. "Please, Jane."

"We have to stop doing this," Jane exhaled, her eyes closing in desperation.

"No," Maura pleaded.

Pressed nose-to-nose, Jane cradled Maura's face in her hands. "No... I mean, we have to stop fighting. We have to find a way out of this. A way to be together."

Maura nodded, water streaking her makeup. "Let's run away together. Just leave."

Jane smiled, but shook her head.

"Get in the car, Maura," she murmured against her lips. "You're soaked."

With their hands the last to separate, Maura went around the front of the car and back inside, and Jane did the same. The air was still warm, and now even more humid, their wet bodies creaking against the old vinyl seats.

"Until we figure out what to do-"

Jane was cut off by Maura climbing over the center console, dislodging some of the junk stored there. It fell harmlessly to floor mats, joining the rest of the mess that was Jane's cruiser. Before she could protest, Maura was on top of her, straddling her thighs.

They kissed forcefully, almost angrily, while Maura ground her lower body against Jane's. The windows would be fogged up any second, and Jane made a passing mention of her concern in between heated exchanges with the doctor's mouth.

"I don't care," she whispered. "I need you."

"We can't run away."

"I know," Maura was unbuttoning her top and pushing it off her shoulders. The sight of her breasts in a sexy black bra dislodged whatever remained of Jane's resolve, and she moaned in instant arousal.

To facilitate her position, Maura had hiked her skirt all the way up, and it now found itself wedged in the crease of her hip. Her thighs were wet with rain, but still hot to the touch when Jane squeezed there. Jane's belt was thrust apart, her zipper thrown down.

Maura was turning her wrist in, ready to slide her hand down Jane's pants, when she stopped abruptly.

"This isn't just sex, Jane. Not with us. I just don't know how to be any other way."

"Yes you do," Jane breathed into her. "That night at the bar. We danced. It was nice."

Maura smiled, and it quickly turned from sweet to seductive. She moved her hand lower.

"_This_ is nice."

She was stroking Jane's clit, slipping the tip of her finger inside her, expertly alternating her attention. It felt dangerous, exposed as they were with the rain beginning to subside, and Jane whimpered, utterly out of control.

Desperate to cling to something, she buried her face in Maura's breasts, pulling the cups of her bra down with an angry tear. She sucked at each nipple, licked the warm hollow between them, and panted like a dog into Maura's bountiful tits.

Maura was amused; Jane could feel the growl in her chest through her lips. The angles were harsh, wrong, inconvenient. But it heightened Jane's desire even more.

"I love your warmth," Maura purred. "I love how your body responds to me. And mine to you. Wait until you feel how wet I am."

She continued her assault on Jane's senses, and the air in the car became heavy with sex. The difficulty breathing was part of it, Jane realized. It was part of the reason this felt so good.

"If I come at all with him, it's because I'm thinking of you."

Jane let out a strangled cry. The thought enraged her, but she couldn't deny how delicious an effect the head games Maura played had on her. She felt drunk, and it wasn't from the whiskey.

"I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming your name."

The car was definitely rocking now, and Jane's face flushed. She was going to come soon, and Maura knew it. She pulled back, watching Jane's wet, gaping mouth with hungry eyes.

Without a word, Jane bucked and thrashed into Maura's hand, the fabric of her suit pants threatening to rip apart where they'd been shoved aside. Maura rode it out on top of Jane, the steering wheel undoubtedly carving a ridge into her back.

Finally, Jane's breathing slowed.

"Don't hit the fucking horn," she grumbled.

Maura withdrew her hand and kissed Jane on the lips, each pass growing more superficial until they were merely pecks.

"Did that work out some of your frustration, Detective?"

Jane sighed, sagging as Maura slid off of her and into the passenger seat.

"Actually, yeah," she smiled sheepishly. "Do you want to-"

Maura shook her head, and began to put her clothes back into order.

"I have to get back to work. And so do you. Find a way to get me out of this," she wiped the stray lipstick from her lips. "I'll find out what I can."

She opened the car door and swung her legs out, but Jane stopped her with a hand to her wrist.

"How, Maura? This doesn't feel right."

"We all make sacrifices. Don't worry about me," Maura winked. "I'll be fine."


End file.
